“Pretty much. Mostly because I want you desperate. I want you to beg me. And,” he adds in a lighter tone, “because it’s my birthday.”
“Is it?” I ask innocently. “In that case, sir, I’m at your disposal.”
He chuckles. “I like the sound of that. But right now, I think you have a scam to pull off. But,” he adds, pulling me close enough that I can feel his erection pressing against me, “we’ll be back here soon enough.”
We will, I think. But I won’t be getting my rooftop seduction.
I sigh.
I really, really hope that Damien enjoys the hell out of his party.
“How did it go?” I ask, as Evelyn and Charles shut the door behind them. We’re in Evelyn’s suite, using it as our base of operations, and Damien, Ryan, Jamie and I have been waiting for the last twenty minutes for her and Charles to return.
“Brilliant,” Evelyn says, pouring herself a glass of bourbon before sinking into one of the overstuffed armchairs. “He’s familiar with both me and Charlie, so he was primed to believe I’m representing Wyatt and some of the lesser models for the catalog shoot. Wyatt’s still in there, by the way. Bertrand wants some candids of him and Carmela behind the scenes.”
I’m sitting on one of the stools by the kitchen island with Jamie beside me. Ryan and Damien are by the window, and though I may be projecting, to me they both already look forbidding.
Beside me, Jamie turns on the stool, looking between Charles and Evelyn. “He knew who both of you were, but he didn’t think about Damien?”
It’s a valid question. Evelyn was a very public representative for Damien back in his youth, and now it’s no secret that they remain good friends. And Charles has been his primary attorney for at least as long. Considering Damien features so prominently in Bertrand’s blackmail pictures, it’s surprising he didn’t make the connection.
But Charles just shakes his head. “Maybe he’s a damn good actor, but I don’t think so. I think having Wyatt’s editor friend call first made the whole thing seem more legitimate. He wasn’t thinking in terms of scamming or getting scammed. He was thinking about his bank account.”
I nod, grateful that Wyatt had been able to coax a friend at one of the top fashion magazines into helping us. She’d called to tell Bertrand that she wanted to do a spread with Carmela during Fashion Week.
“And Carmela?” Damien asks. “She’s still in with him?”
Evelyn nods. “She’s playing the role brilliantly. Thrilled about her modeling comeback, but cold and standoffish to Bertrand.” She shifts her attention to me. “Did she tell you she couldn’t act? I’d say she’s doing a fine job.”
“In my experience, Carmela has a knack for acting in whatever manner will get her what she wants,” Damien says with affectionate humor. “I think that trait is serving her well now.”
“When are we going in?” Jamie asks.
“You’re not,” Ryan says. “It’s just me and Damien.”
“And Nikki,” Damien adds. “She should be there for Carmela.”
I meet his eye, and see just the hint of a smirk. Apparently he sees the irony in me being there for Carmela as much as I do.
Jamie takes a step toward Ryan, undoubtedly to argue the point, but I grab her arm. “If you’re there, he’s going to be even more defensive,” I say. “Besides, you can stay here with Evelyn and Charles. Hang out. Go get a drink. We’ll find you when we’re done,” I say, looking her straight in the eye so that there’s no way she can miss that what I mean is that we’ll find her in my suite. Because that’s where she’s supposed to go next, to organize the party for Damien.
She crosses her arms and makes a face, but she nods. Then she pokes me in the chest. “You owe me one.”
“Definitely,” I say.
She flops back down on the couch. “So when are y’all going in?”
“Carmela’s supposed to call here, pretending to call room service.” I glance at my watch. “Should be soon,” I say, and the words are barely out of my mouth when the phone rings and Carmela places her fake order for a pitcher of martinis.
“Show time,” Ryan says, and Damien takes my hand.
Bertrand’s suite is one floor up, and we take the stairs. Carmela opens the door, her eyes wide, and leads us back into the parlor where Wyatt stands by the window, and Bertrand—a pudgy-faced man with a sour expression—sits at the desk, though he stands the moment he sees us.
“What the hell?” He whips around to find Carmela, who’s moved near Wyatt. “What the fucking hell are you doing bringing that asshat and his little bitch here?” he rants, gesturing toward me and Damien. “And who the fuck is the flunky?”
Ryan steps forward. “The flunky can kick your ass without breaking a sweat,” he says. “And the flunky is here to make sure none of these pictures—or any other similar pictures you might have squirreled away—get released.”