“So word has gotten out already,” Waylon laughs it off.
I flick Waylon a knowing look. We were the ones who leaked the news. Waylon is running for governor today. Tomorrow it could be the presidency.
He wants power, real power, legal power—unlike some people I know.
That’s what draws me to him.
Langston Pearce.
He’s hidden from my view among a group of men chatting together. All I can see is a single eye peeking out from between two people. An eye watching me with unsettling dominance.
I wobble on my heels as my knees weaken from the power of his gaze.
Waylon may make me feel things I’ve never felt before, but Langston is the only man who can turn my knees weak, my heart still, and my world on its head.
Both men have a strong effect on me. Both men make me wish I’d never met them, because being with them means giving up some of my absolute control.
Neither man will let me have complete control. They want it for themselves.
My life would have been the same with Langston as it is with Waylon—a constant battle of wills. The difference is Waylon makes me stronger, while Langston makes me weaker. And I won’t accept weakness.
I draw my eyes away as I hold onto my champagne glass, blocking my face from Langston’s view.
The group mingling with us laughs at something Waylon says, and I laugh along with them. I could play my role in my sleep—the role of a trophy wife, clinging to Waylon’s arm. And yet, I won’t cling. I’m not here because of Waylon. I’m here on my own. I made it on my own. I don’t need any man, Waylon knows it. He can’t control me. It’s why he knows that if I touch his arm, it’s not because I need him to lean on. It’s because I’m playing the part.
Still, when I’m drawn back into the conversation, I’m no longer really here. Instead, I’m focused on the feeling of Langston’s eyes lingering over me, heating me from head to toe with just his hungry gaze.
From the outside, I ignore his stare. But Langston’s wreaking havoc on my insides—my gut is twisted, my heart is fluttering, my breath is shallow, practically panting to breathe him in.
But then I see Fitz—the other man I’m here for. The man I’ve hunted down and traced to the threatening letter I was sent—a man I plan on killing.
“Excuse me, gentlemen,” I say with a seductive smile before I kiss Waylon on the cheek and whisper into his ear that I’ll be back soon.
He nods solemnly before turning back to entertaining the group around us. He doesn’t ask where I’m going. He lets me be as independent as I want, even if he disagrees with me.
I spot Fitz, my target, as I strut through the ballroom. I know I have several eyes on me, but I only feel Langston’s. I don’t let myself look at him. I know where I stand with Langston. I know that although we will never be together, never even be friends, he will follow me. So I focus on my target.
A waiter walks over to the group he’s standing in, leaning in to offer more champagne. And I take my chance.
I step right into the center of the five man group. All eyes and voices fall, as they all concentrate on keeping their boners from making an appearance as they drool over my body covered in lace and black fabric. My ass and legs look great beneath the slit in the dress, but my boobs are the real show as the dress cuts down in a low V, showing off most of my breasts.
Men are so easy to manipulate when you have a body like mine.
I set my empty glass on the tray, leaning across Fitz’s face as I do. I stand almost a foot taller than him in my heels. Then I take another glass of champagne from the tray.
“Meet me on the balcony,” I whisper into his ear before I turn and walk away toward the balcony. I know that he’s following me without having to turn and look. In fact, I know that two men are following me.
The air is warm as I stand on the balcony a dozen floors up, looking out at the twinkling lights of the city. Anywhere else, a balcony like this might seem romantic. But here in New York City, the city that never sleeps, all you hear is the honk of horns and the bustle of people. You breathe in the heavy haze in the air. This sight, the energy here, makes me never want to leave.
“You found me,” I say when I hear Fitz’s heavy footsteps. He would make a terrible assassin, which is one of the reasons I was able to find him so easily. He’s used to dealing with much less skilled people. He didn’t know he was dealing with a survivor. He doesn’t know that I more than survive—I thrive. And I won’t let a nameless suit like him threaten my life. I’ve survived much worse men. This man is nothing. Soon, he’ll truly be a nothing.
“When a beautiful woman tells you to meet her, you meet her.”
I hold my champagne glass up as I turn and lay eyes on him, reading him like a book. He knows exactly who I am. He knows that I know who he is. He has a bulge in the side of his pants, where I know he keeps his weapon. He thinks I’m weak, that he can just pull the gun out, and I’ll be on my knees begging for my life, willing to do whatever he wants.
Not likely.
I’d rather die.
“Your first lie, Mr. Fitz Nash.” I sip the too sweet champagne.
He puts his hands in his pockets, close to the gun, but not quite touching it as he takes a couple of steps toward me.
“I don’t lie.”
He stops and leans against the cement railing next to me.
I let my eyelashes bat up at him, drawing him in as I lick my bottom lip. He leans closer, thinking I’m going to kiss him. I’ll do a lot to hunt a man. I’ll play my part, but I’ll never kiss or fuck a man I don’t want to, just to get what I want. That’s where I draw the line.
There will be no kiss.
“No, you’re just a blackmailing bastard who thinks he can threaten me and my family for easy money.”
His eyes blink in shock, and he reaches for his gun. But I’m faster.
I smash my champagne glass hard against his forehead. He palms the large gash while I take the moment to casually grab his gun.
It takes the bastard a few minutes to realize what’s happening; he’s so focused on the blood pouring down the front of his face, dripping into his eyes, spilling onto his lips and tux. He doesn’t realize I’m aiming a gun at his heart.
Slowly, he raises his hands.
“You’re not going to kill me.”
I remove the safety. “Why do people keep saying that?”
“Because it’s true. You don’t have to kill me. I’ll leave you and your family alone.”
“Why? Why did you target us? Was it just about the money, or was it more?” Please, don’t say it was about the blasted letter my father gave me before he disappeared from my life.
“I knew you two had money. I thought with your family’s political ambitions that you would just pay and move on. I never intended to harm you.”
He lowers his hands.
I don’t know why I’m letting him talk. This is all information I can get on my own. And I suspect he isn’t telling the truth. Just shoot him.
“Are you working alone?” I ask, instead.
He smirks, thinking I’m weak. It’s exactly what I need to be able to pull the trigger.
I squeeze.
Unfortunately, he moves just in time, and I only graze his arm. His eyes grow wide, and the air changes as he realizes I truly do intend to kill him. And there is no one to save him.