Don't Tell (Don't 1)

“Never am.” I grinned in the dark. I could end this now. I would.

“Five hundred thousand.”

The room was shocked into silence.

I waited for Sebastian to say something, but he didn’t have the balls to challenge me again.

“The tender is complete for seven-seven-seven and has been awarded to the House of Sauvage.”

I rose from the table, straightening my jacket. “Congrats.” Ashford shook my hand.

“Thank you. I think I’ll collect my tally and get out of here.” I slammed my empty glass on the table. “Gentlemen, enjoy your evening. Good luck with your prospects.” I nodded to the nearby tables. I stopped as I passed by Sebastian.

I leaned toward his shoulder. “Don’t fuck with me like that again.”

“In here, you’re like everyone else.”

I patted him as I began to stroll away. “You’re mistaken. I’m not like anyone else.”

4

Molly

Brooklyn squealed when I walked backstage in a trance.

“Who was it? Was it fun?” She shook me. My head rattled. “I just heard the numbers going up and up and up.”

“I have no idea. It was a blur. There were two houses at the end. I couldn’t figure out the accents.” I reached for my forehead.

The stage manager appeared beside us. “Cherie, Cherie, you must come. Come, with me. Quickly.”

I looked at Brooklyn. I wasn’t leaving without knowing exactly where I was going. I wanted to stay for her moment on stage as well.

“No. I need details.” I stuck my chin forward.

“Cherie, your sponsor. Come now,” he urged.

“Just tell us who it is,” Brooklyn pleaded. “I’m dying to know. I thought this was going in numerical order, but apparently, that’s not Galonaian. I have no idea when I’m going out there. I’m dying back here.”

He sighed. “Cher, he is waiting. You must be quickly.”

I didn’t correct his English. “Who is he?”

“Yeah, who is it? The director? Please tell me it’s an actor. I will die if you end up with Chris Fox tonight. Although, totally ironic that you’d land an American when we’re in Europe, but it’s still super sexy and—”

“The tenders are sealed,” he interrupted Brooklyn’s chatter.

“I’m not moving unless you tell me who is waiting for me.”

“Americans,” he grumbled.

I frowned. I hated when that happened. I wasn’t being American. I was being safe and cautious. Following the girl code. Brooklyn should know who I was with and I should know where she was. It was practical and logical. American, my ass.

He pushed the microphone from his lips and motioned for me to lean in.

“Yes?”

“His Royal Highness,” he whispered, cupping my ear with his hand.