Total pages in book: 192
Estimated words: 183663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 918(@200wpm)___ 735(@250wpm)___ 612(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 183663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 918(@200wpm)___ 735(@250wpm)___ 612(@300wpm)
“Alexander, he’s playing games. Tonight is the only time that suits his purpose.”
“One night is as good as any other. Days are much the same.”
“Except tonight is the first of the cabaret nights.” He places an ironic-sounding emphasis on cabaret. “He’s fobbed you off to secure your appearance for the opening night. Your attendance always used to help.” He presses his palm against another door, pushing it open to reveal a sitting room with leather chairs in dark corners, claret-coloured velvet sofas, and parlour palms.
“You mean the debauching duke of Dalforth,” I mutter with a cynical smile, lowering myself into one of the leather chairs.
“You must admit, there have been moments when you’ve fit that mould,” Matt replies, doing the same.
“Not for some time.”
“Portia must be keeping you happy.”
My next smile is a little mocking. “You never were very good at fishing.”
He shrugs, sort of suit yourself. “Anyway, I think you’ll find you’re known as the delicious duke of Dalforth these days.”
I snort at the ridiculousness of the notion.
“It’s true. Van might’ve dangled a carrot to get you here, but now you’ll see you’ve become that carrot.”
It’s not a very flattering analogy. Unfortunately, the room proves to be far from private as the doors swing open, and bodies begin to spill in.
“Surely not,” I mutter, doing a comic double-take as my gaze catches on my brother. “Who authorised his membership?”
Matt glance follows mine, his expression unconcerned. “Weren’t you just saying this place wasn’t your concern anymore?”
“There used to be standards,” I mutter, watching as Griffin caresses the cheeks of a tall brunette—not the cheeks of her face—who appears to be wearing little more than high heels and body paint. With any luck, the paint will stain. Him, at any rate.
“That was when the place was run for fun, not as an enterprise. I’ve heard your brother is making friends in high places.”
Half-brother, I silently correct. “You can’t have heard correctly,” I reply, taking a glass of champagne from a passing server dressed as a French maid. Her frilly pinny makes me think of Holland, and I shake my head against the highly inappropriate places that thought might take me. “Griffin prefers to make friends in places much lower than you’re used to.”
“How do you know what I’m used to. You’re barely around these days.”
I sit back in my chair and rest my weary head against the chair. “I know.”
“All work and no play makes Alexander a very dull boy.”
Don’t I know it. “Come up to Kilblair this weekend,” I offer—demand—suddenly sitting straight.
“Isn’t it the tourist season?”
I almost laugh as his expression crumples as though smelling something offensive.
“I’ve closed it this weekend,” I say, waving off his concerns. “We’ve got some of Hollywood coming to play.”
“Play?” Matteo tilts his head in suggestion, and my gaze follows his in a scan of the room. I wonder when I became inured to sights such as these. Naked flesh, heavy petting, hands kneading and stroking. In short, the beginning of an evening of a sexual free-for-all.
“No, not like this.” Perish the thought. “Just the usual pursuits. Grouse. Whisky. A little stalking.”
“Deer, or something else?”
“And dinner with some of Hollywood’s elite,” I add, ignoring his teasing.
“Yeah, why not,” he replies. I don’t know who is more surprised; him or me. “It’ll be good to catch up. To get away from the city.”
As I spot Griffin heading our way, I resist the urge to settle lower in my chair, hoping he won’t see me. “I really don’t know where he found the funds to cover his membership,” I mutter. He’s always pleading poverty.
“I hear Griffin has been chosen to head up the legal team of the elusive oligarch.”
“Van’s uncle?” I ask. Matt nods. “But Griffin practises criminal law, not corporate.”
“And Van’s family is not particularly law-abiding. Didn’t he once describe them as law adjacent, and his oligarch uncle the worst of them?”
“I think he described him as a despotic, money laundering, drug trafficking overlord.” But one of the few in his position that draws the line at human trafficking.
“His uncle also loaned him the money to buy you out.”
Of course, I’d known that.
“I didn’t expect to see you here.” Without waiting for an invitation, Griffin settles himself into a seat between mine and Matt’s.
“Expectation implies thought, doesn’t it?” My gaze bounces between the pair with an air of bewilderment. “I thought you saved that for billable hours.” The rest of the time, I almost certain he thinks with his cock.
“Hilarious, as always, big bro. What’s wrong with your face? Have you got cummy ache?” he asks with a childish pout. “That’s what happens when you get blue balls.”
I send him a withering look.
“You two would’ve gotten along famously as kids,” Matt says, straight-faced.
“As we do now,” I mutter, tightening my grip on my glass.
“That reminds me, I’ve got a bone to pick with you.” The dark liquid in Griffin’s crystal tumbler ripples as he points his finger at me around the glass.