Page 11 of Nothing to You (Nothing to… #7)

DINNER HER ASS.

The car showed up just like he said. With a chauffeur to open the back door like she couldn’t do it herself. Someone had already poured the champagne. Sick. But she had to smile as she sipped from the flute. What a dick. Yes, there was flash and glamour, but he wasn’t fooling her.

Except he had.

The mansion appeared as they rounded the ascending road. Glittering, it was fully alight; the driveway lined with twinkling lights that glowed in the trees on either side.

“What the hell…?” she murmured, sliding closer to the window as she buzzed it down to stick her head out and…

People stood on either side of the entrance. The line of cars in front of her were dealt with by the valets scurrying around efficiently, parking the vehicles… somewhere.

Like a conveyor belt, one stopped them, another uniformed someone opened the door, a third took the keys, and a final handed out tickets. Each shifted role in rotation as the car was driven away and the guests escorted inside.

“Fuck. Me.”

This wasn’t dinner. She didn’t know what the hell it was, but it wasn’t some casual dinner party, colleagues getting to know each other. This was… an event. More than a function, it was a damn ball. Like the Oscars or some shit. Whoa, boy.

She swallowed. Yep, the women wore gowns. The men were in tuxes. This was a full tilt, no expense spared, no holds barred, balls to the wall damn jubilee or something.

When the car got to the front of the pack, she had to back off for the valet to open the door. And she wanted to leave. Wanted to pack up her corporate smart casual and go right back to where she came from.

For about three seconds.

He could show off as much as he liked. Could launch curveball after curveball. Bring it on.

Licking her lips, she smiled and slid her hand into that of the suited man outside.

Rourke wanted to have dinner? Wanted to boast to his cronies, congratulate himself on an excellent piece of misdirection? He wanted to win… but not as much as her.

The marble stairs were shallow and flanked by burning torches. The lobby was full of people mingling. The stairs curved up and around to a broad landing above that overlooked the cavernous space. No sign of the master himself. No. Why should he show up to greet his guests?

Flashing a smile here and there, she went to the sentry at the bottom of the stairs.

“Restroom?” she asked. He pointed to the wide corridor to his left. “Thank you.”

A woman was coming out of a room to the side. She was quick to swerve in and hurried over to drop her purse on the vanity. What kind of person had a restroom in their home with actual stalls? Partying had to be his thing.

“Thank God for heels,” she whispered, kicking them off and yanking the pins from her hair to toss it over, boosting her volume.

Without caring who else may walk in, she took off her top and bit the plastic from the end of a bobby pin to pick out the seam of the sleeve. One went, then the other. She put her top back on, pulling the wide straps left onto the balls of her shoulders, tucking in any loose threads.

“What have I got?” She opened her purse to pull out eyeliner. Thickening it up, she added a flick and slathered on the mascara. “Damn him,” she muttered, smudging on her matte lipstick and pinching her cheeks to give them a little color. “Think you can get over on me…”

A gaggle of women entered, giggling. They stopped to gawk; their surprise joined her in the mirror. Whatever. She kept on working and just winked, sending them back to their business.

They were probably his type, the kind of women who got him going. All preened and perfect. She could do preened and perfect. Though, tossing her hair again, she stepped back, preferring her rough around the edges look. Yanking down her top, she plumped her breasts in her bra. Something was missing…

The chain strap of her clutch would be perfect. Prying the links from the purse, she looped it around her hips twice and tied it in an uneven knot.

And there it was.

Slipping on her heels again, she fluffed her hair. The women not in stalls were watching, but she didn’t care. This wasn’t about them.

Sailing out to the party again, she sashayed her way to the server with champagne and tucked her purse under her arm to grab two flutes. One she downed and put back, the other stayed with her.

A few long stairs past the front door took her down into a huge space clearly designed for entertaining. Open doors led to a deck on two sides. A group. For dinner.

Okay, now she was getting the game. Screwing around was one thing, but this was war. If he wanted to shake her, he’d have to try harder. There were no rules. No sportsmanship. Only a winner and a loser. She wouldn’t be the latter.

Strangers swarmed the house, no familiar faces, but she didn’t mind wandering around, smiling, nodding, absorbing the interest of the partygoers. They no doubt thought she was in the wrong place by her lack of diamonds and grace.

Some people outside were eating. A buffet was laid out to one side and movement took her in another set of glass doors to a kitchen bustling with staff.

The shrimp was so good; she ate a few more pieces. Oh, and there was sushi, right over there.

“Miss Radley.”

A server slid into her path, halting her dead. “Come to throw me out?”

Someone probably flagged her presence. She didn’t exactly fit in with the champagne and caviar crowd.

“Mr. Rourke requests your company.”

She scooped her hair over one shoulder. “Well, he can suck it,” she said. Shock hit the guy right between the eyes. “But I… I can tell him that.” She put the flute on the counter. “Where is he?”

“Follow me, I’ll show you.”

They crossed past the island of food and the giant refrigerator and went through into a darker hallway. No people there. No fancy guests. Maybe the hall led back to the front of the house.

Rather than go out anywhere, he took a sharp turn into another hall and then they were ascending stairs. To… where? She’d been kidding about the orgy thing… Was he playing chicken with her?

Light rose from the head of the enclosed stairway. At the top, she turned to look back. The whole wall beyond was glass. The light came from outside. From the party beneath.

“This way,” the guy said, going to a set of double doors to knock.

“Yeah,” came a call from inside.

The guy took both door handles and leaned into them, rolling them apart. Just a couple of feet later, he let go and nodded into the darkness.

She was to…

Passing him, she went inside, unable to deny her curiosity.

The vast room had to be thirty feet wide.

More maybe. Split level, the right was down a few stairs.

He had a thing for split levels. At that same end, an array of screens covering the wall provided the only light.

So many images. Too much to take in. Video footage?

Various news channels. Business and stocks.

No voices. No volume. Security footage. Code.

Server data. What the hell was all that?

Numbers. Letters. Symbols scrolling constantly.

“Take it to twenty-four, but no more. That’s it.”

His voice startled her. A door next to the screens closed at the same time the pair shut behind her.

“Radley.”

Ignoring the vast desk opposite the double doors, she went toward the screens and stayed at the top of the stairs looking down at him tossing something between his hands.

It was impossible. She wanted to absorb and deflect. But as her eyes traveled up his body and back down again, she couldn’t suppress her amused disbelief.

Bare feet, gray sweats, a tee-shirt that had seen better days. The guy hadn’t shaved. Hadn’t even combed his hair.

“This is your dinner party?”

“You hungry?” he asked, heading away from the screens. Recessed lights flickered on in the corner, revealing a bar for him to slink behind. “Figured you’d get wasted faster if I didn’t feed you.”

“You know there are people in your house.”

“A lot of ‘em,” he said, opening a fridge. “I made you something.”

She couldn’t see what he was doing but was intrigued and incredulous. “You made me something?”

“Yeah, come over here.”

“I’m on tenterhooks,” she said insincerely, descending the stairs.

“Got you something too.”

“A present?”

“Yeah, there in that box,” he said, nodding backwards as he turned around to put a tall glass on the bar next to a box with a bow on it.

“What is that?” she asked, approaching with caution. This was Hotshot after all. He opened a hand to the glass filled with red slush. “Daiquiri. You made me a daiquiri?

“Impressed, aren’t you?”

“No,” she said, picking it up to sniff it. “You lace it with something?”

“Touch of spunk, Babycakes. A little manseed.”

Ha ha, she sneered, provoking his smile.

As he went back to the fridge, she sipped. “You made this?”

Wow, it was amazing.

“I made it,” he said, popping the cap off a beer bottle. “Told someone to make it. Same thing.”

“That is not the same thing. One requires effort.”

“Took effort to tell the guy,” he said, smirking as he drank. As he lowered the bottle, he gestured at the box. “Open your box.”

“What’s in it?” She turned it around. “Should I have witnesses?”

“No, I deliberately cut you off from everyone. No one will hear you scream up here.” He shrugged. “Open it. Don’t open it. Whatever.” Rounding the bar, he passed to head toward the massive couch facing the dynamic screens. “Come over here. I’ve got something to show you.”

She left her purse and took the drink. “You take your cock out of your pants, I’m claiming workman’s comp for the trauma. I need danger money being alone with you.”

He dropped onto the couch. “Afraid of me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Did you win?”

“Win?” she asked, sliding one knee onto the seat and then the other to rest her side against the back of the couch, facing him. “Your cock’s still in your pants, so, yeah, I guess I did.”

“It’s there whenever you’re ready for it, Babycakes, but I meant with the doctor.”

That soured her mood. Thank goodness for the fortifying daiquiri. “Hmm,” she huffed. “Johann. He’s so far up his own ass. I thought you won the award for worshipping yourself, but he’s stiff competition.”

“You don’t like him?”

“Obviously you did, or you wouldn’t have hired him. That should be enough for me to dislike him. You have terrible judgment.”

“Not to burst your bubble, but I never met the man before today. The panel heard their pitch.”

“And it was better than ours?”

“No one’s was better than yours, Radley. Yours was the most memorable. What a finish.”

“So why do we need them?” she asked, ignoring his mocking. “I’m better. You don’t need them.”

“Gets into a legal gray area to favor one idea or group over another when they’re so similar.” He drew in a breath. “That said, make up cause and fire him. I don’t care.”

“Fire him?” she asked, jolting in surprise.