Page 23 of Pretty Mess

“Cormac Reilly,” he says, throwing his drink back and beckoning to a waiter to get him another.

“Pardon?”

He nods towards the table and comes closer. I have to stop myself from moving away. His breath smells of alcohol and garlic. “That arrogant bastard is Cormac Reilly,” he says in a low voice.

“Oh,” I say in studied disinterest.Cormac Reilly. It’s a nice name, and it suits the mystery man. He’s once more absorbed in his cards, but I suddenly have the conviction that his attention is still on us.

“Prick.”

I blink. “Sorry?”

Ian pats my arm, and his hand lingers in a rough caress that makes my skin crawl. “Not you, angel. Cormac.”

“Oh, you know him, then?” I say, stepping back slightly.

His eyes flare as his hand falls away, but his voice is still level when he speaks again. “I work with him. I own a property management company.”

“Oh, nice.”

I look over at Cormac again, but he’s talking to a server. When I look back at Ian, his mouth twists. “You seem interested in him. Maybe leave it at interest, though, young man. I could tell you some tales about him.”

His voice is full of spite, which makes me feel uncomfortable. “Oh no,” I start to say.

“Forty grand.”

“Sorry?”

He drains his glass. “I’ll pay you forty grand.”

“For what?”

He stares at me. “Your name on my dance card. What do you think it’s for, stupid?”

“Forty grand.Jesus.” I can’t help my words, and he gives me a cold smile.

“You’re fresh ground. Untouched.”

“I really wouldn’t go that far.”

His eyebrow rises. “In this place, you’re untouched, and that’s the important thing. Well, what do you say? Forty grand and your arse is mine for the evening.”

That amount is under what Julian decreed I should demand, but it’s more money than I’ve ever seen in my life. It will pay my tuition fees for the year with some left over to make a start on clearing the debts. My life can return to some form of normal, if I have forty grand. But I still hesitate. There’s something about Ian that makes me uneasy, but is that because of my situation, or is it him?

I shift my weight from foot to foot, wondering how I should respond. Before I can decide, a man approaches. He’s wearing a grey suit and carrying a small silver tray on which is an envelope.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” he says in a low, well-modulated tone. “Mr Archer, I’m an assistant to Fox Walker. I have an offer on the table for you.”

It takes me an embarrassing moment to work out what he’s saying. “Really?” I say, hoping my acute gratitude to him for having broken up my awkward situation with Ian isn’t obvious.

He nods, but Ian stares at him angrily. “I just offered him forty grand.”

The man’s face remains as bland and pleasant as before, but something tells me he doesn’t like Ian. “I’m so sorry, sir, but you know Mr Walker’s rules. The offers must go through him.” He gives Ian a polite smile. “Mr Walker said to remind you that the only place he enjoys renegades is in old cowboy films.”

My mouth twitches, but Ian huffs angrily and slams his empty glass down on a nearby table. “Never mind,” he snaps. He looks at me. “I’m sure I’ll see you very soon, Wes.”

Not if I see you first.I nod and smile politely. “Nice to meet you.”

We watch him go, and I turn to Fox’s assistant. He immediately offers me a kind smile and try as I might, I can’t see any judgement. “Mr Walker says the customer has exceeded Mr Bancroft’s suggested price for spending the evening with you.”