Page 42 of Lovely Venom

Afew mornings later, I meet Valdrin in a members-only tea salon. He’s already there when I arrive. Seated in a fancy corner booth, he’s steeping a chrome infuser with mint leaves into a glass mug of hot water.

I slide into the seat across from him. “Sorry, I’m late.”

He flicks a harsh glare at me. “No, you’re not.”

“Okay, I’m not.” I bring the infuser to my nose and breathe in the faint, earthy dregs of mint. My mouth waters, craving a sip.

Not that I think he’d give me one. This place looks very expensive, and he will probably guard that mug with his life.

That takes on a different meaning with a mafia boss.

Instead, I play with a sugar tube and hope they serve coffee. “What’s next?”

He taps his fingers against the mug. “There’s an art exhibit this Saturday night at The Sterling hotel.”

I arch an eyebrow. “Never heard of it. And?”

Valdrin speaks with a measured tone. “Connor’s sister works and lives at the hotel. She’s married to one of the owners. It’s the hotel’s anniversary, and the exhibit is open to the public. Connor is going to support her. This is another chance to get close to him. Show an interest in something important to him and his family. Let him know you’re willing to go home with him this time.”

I scoff at the idea that Connor is susceptible to some bimbo making kissy eyes at him. Yet, my heart pounds against my ribs at the idea of being back in his bed. Getting close to Connor again doesn’t sound like a burden.

That’s the problem.

A big,bigproblem.

A server comes and agrees to brew me a cup of Turkish coffee.

“So,” Valdrin says slowly, “your neighbor Ruby.”

That stops me from tearing into a sugar packet. “What about her?”

“She lives with her father?”

Oh shit.

“That’s correct.”

“What’s his deal?” Valdrin’s voice drops low.

“He’s a jerk.” I swallow harshly. “But Ruby is tough. She can handle him.”

“Is she single?”

I blink. “Why do you need to know all these details about my neighbor?”

“I’m curious.” He shrugs. “You don’t seem the type to surround yourself with meaningless people.”

“She’s not meaningless. She’s practically my best friend.”

He smiles. “What does she do for a living?”

Exhaling, I say, “She’s a dancer.”

“Ballet?”

“She does get bendy,” I snipe.

The mug of tea stops at his lips. “Dancer as in stripper?”