Page 3 of Wicked Games
After the second heist, I kept my mouth shut when they presented photos of the man they believed had breached the security system to steal a small statue of Anubis valued at six million dollars. Sebastian looked different in the photo, but I recognized the square jaw I’d nibbled on every day for a week leading up to the theft.
“You sure know how to sour a good mood.”
“You don’t need my help in that regard, Big Brother. Did you see Archie is here?”
“Yes, and I also saw he brought his boyfriend with him.” Unlike our parents, Iris had loved Archie. He was the only guy I ever brought home who didn’t ignore my precocious, teenage sister. She was fifteen at the time and loved when Archie invited her along on some of our dates. “He’s happy, Iris.” Speaking of Archie, I had an apology to make. I leaned over and kissed Iris’s temple. “I think you look stunning.” Mother had an absolute conniption when Iris had cut her long hair for a short, asymmetrical look, but I thought it made her elegant bone structure look even more striking. “Think about my offer. I meant it.”
“I know, and I love you, Ry.” Iris kissed my cheek then flagged down a waiter for a flute of champagne before walking away.
I spotted Archie and Ollie standing by the drawing of the Roebling Bridge that had captured everyone’s attention. When I walked up on them, they were discussing the origins of the bridge. They were understandably skeptical at first but graciously accepted my apology. I was ready to put the chapter behind me and move on, but to where, I had no idea.
Throughout the time I spoke with Archie and Ollie, I became aware of a buzz in my central nervous system. I wasn’t dizzy or knocked off-balance, but something was off. I’d only tossed back one flute of champagne, and I’d taken care to eat dinner before the event because a man could not live on finger foods and snacks alone. I wasn’t tipsy. I was…alive. Every single one of my senses was on high alert as they only had been in the presence of one man. Sebastian Deveraux.
After I parted with Archie and Ollie, I decided to seek refuge in my office to try and center myself once more. Sebastian wasn’t in Cincinnati; it was just my overactive imagination getting the best of me. My nervous system was always out of whack at gala events thanks to the backstabbing son of a bitch who broke my heart…twice. I couldn’t say I was waiting for the other shoe to drop because it already had. Fate couldn’t possibly be so cruel as to place Sebastian in my orbit again. I flopped in my chair and reached for the bottle of expensive Scotch I kept in my bottom drawer. Things didn’t seem so bad after a few drinks of Scotch. I froze when someone firmly knocked on my office door, and my heart raced at the possibilities. Yes, it could be one of the board members, a trustee, or someone from the museum’s senior staff coming to lecture me on my absence, but I doubted they noticed I left. It could be the fuckable waiter coming to claim the silent offer I’d given him, or it could be… No.
I rose to my feet and crossed to my office door. Leaning against the frame was the smiling face of my oldest friend. “Well, hello there, Dr. Love,” I said, unwilling to pass up the opportunity to tease Trent about his name. “I didn’t know you were coming tonight.”
“It was a last-minute decision. Starting the party without me, eh?” He nodded toward the bottle of Scotch and half-empty tumbler beside it. “Do you have another tumbler stashed somewhere in your massive desk? If not, I’ll drink it straight from the bottle.”
“How gauche,” I teased.
“Sometimes a man just has zero fucks left to give.”
I tilted my head back and laughed at the misery etched on his handsome face. His normally immaculate blond hair looked like he’d recently run both hands through it, or maybe he’d had help. I stepped aside and gestured for Trent to enter. “I have an extra tumbler even if I never have anyone to drink with.”
Trent accepted the glass and knocked the Scotch back with one drink. “Please, sir, can I have three fingers this time?”
I quirked a brow and aimed a dirty grin his way then poured him three fingers’ worth of Scotch. “There’s only one thing I know that drives a man to drink like that,” I said as Trent devoured the second glass. “My mother is in a mood tonight too. I wonder what got into them.”
“It wouldn’t be my father,” Trent said. “He’s too busy screwing his secretary to worry about thawing out my mother’s—”
“Whoa,” I said, holding up my hand. “This isn’t the direction I wanted to take the conversation, but extra points for trying to distract me. I merely wondered the reason for their mood. Is your mother trying to set you up with someone too?”
The smile Trent gave me was pure wickedness. “Oh yes,” he agreed.
“Who is the poor sap?” I asked then took a drink of my Scotch.
“You.”
I choked and coughed for a few seconds, and Trent came around to pound on my back. “Is this what they taught you to do in med school when someone is choking?” I asked in an anguished whisper. My throat and lungs burned as I attempted to laugh. “You’re an evil bastard.”
“I could beyourevil bastard if you play your cards right,” Trent leered jokingly. There was no way in hell anything romantic, or physical for that matter, would develop between us. We had a good laugh at our mothers’ meddling ways and how terrible they were at picking dates for us.
We both stilled when there was a knock on the door. Trent lifted a brow as if to ask if I was expecting company, and I answered with a shrug. Trent crossed the room and opened the door. “Well, hello there, handsome.” Trent stood to the side, allowing me to see my visitor. It was the gorgeous waiter. “I’ll just be off,” Trent said. “Three’s a crowd.”
“It doesn’t have to be,” the waiter said, looking Trent up and down like he was an ice cream cone he was dying to lick.
Trent glanced over his shoulder at me and said, “Call me for lunch soon. I want to catch up with you.”
“Will do,” I said, returning my attention to the young guy who sauntered into my office. “Close the door and lock it,” I instructed once we were alone.
“Yes, sir.”
Perhaps the night was looking up after all.
I’D ARRIVED INCINCINNATI ATnoon and checked in at the 21c Museum Hotel under the alias of Christian Somersby. I had hoped to catch a quick nap after almost twenty-four hours of nonstop travel, but my room wasn’t ready yet. The once historic Metropole Hotel had been reimagined as a contemporary art museum in the heart of Cincinnati, known as the Queen City. Instead of sleeping, I toured the impressive collections on display before enjoying lunch at the Metropole restaurant. One nice thing I could say about Banks, he always put us up in lovely hotels, made sure we had access to the finest foods available, and provided sexy wheels that would give any car enthusiast wet dreams. I was very fond of the Aston Martin waiting for me in the parking garage at CVG international airport. My burner phone rang before I finished my glass of Pinot Grigio. I was tempted to ignore the phone in case it was Banks calling to go over the details of the artifact recovery one-more-fucking-time but didn’t want to miss a call from the hotel clerk if my room was ready early. It must’ve been my lucky day because the adorable Ms. Crusoe informed me my room was indeed ready.
I’d made it as far as stripping down to my boxers and climbing between the soft sheets before my phone rang again. I knew it would be Banks, and ignoring his calls would only ensure he kept calling until I answered.