“The problem is, I don’t want any other man here seeing you dressed like that,” he said, still with his back to her. “I don’t want them wondering how soft your skin is or how great you smell. I don’t know if it’s a lotion you use, but you smell like honeysuckle. I don’t want them wondering if you taste like it. I don’t want them looking at your legs or brushing against you or getting off fantasizing about you on your knees for them.” He sounded almost angry, and when he turned, his expression was fiercely possessive. “If anyone gropes you, they’ll lose a hand.” He stepped close, kissed her forehead gently. “You are fucking perfect.”
She had that might-need-to-cry tightness in her throat because she could almost die from the explosion of joy in her heart.
He took her by the shoulders and sat her on the bed, but his expression was all business now. “We have four joint targets.”
She remembered them as the Drug Lord, the Polluter, the Dirty Dean, and Room Service. They’d work these four together, with Fin playing the role of the favor, so Cal could move on them later with his investment proposition.
“And you have your own targets,” he said.
A list of five or six, all friends of Alex and Paris.
“Alex will hit on you.”
She nodded. It was a note in her brief.
“He’ll contrive to get you alone. He’ll make promises about D4D. And if you don’t take kindly to his dishonorable intentions, he’ll try to isolate you, overpower you, and assault you.”
That wasn’t in the brief. She stood, alarmed. “No, that won’t happen.”
“He’s a big guy. He’s a billionaire in his own right. He’ll inherit all of this. He is powerful in ways you can only imagine. He can hurt you and deny doing it, and no one will believe you didn’t throw yourself at him or falsely accuse him.”
Fin wasn’t naïve enough to doubt Cal in this. She’d seen it happen. Influential agents who wanted to sample before they’d represent. Slime bucket directors who wanted to screen test nude scenes that weren’t in the script. Co-stars who were convinced sex would give you better on-screen chemistry. Men in bars who pushed you against a wall and felt you up and were stronger and meaner and you couldn’t get away without causing a fuss. She’d had to cause a fuss before. She’d had to rescue Lenny, and Lenny’d had to rescue her.
“You can’t ever be alone with Alex.”
“I’ll stay away from him. I’ll keep you in sight.”
Some of the tension in Cal released. “Paris will hit on me.” She gasped. That wasn’t in the brief either. “She’ll even do it when Alex is watching. It’s a sick game between the two of them. They love the drama of indiscretion.”
“She can’t hit on you if I stick to you like glue.”
“If you were sitting on my dick, she’d still try it.” Cal shook his head. “I’m sorry to be crude, but I want you to know exactly what you’re getting into. Let’s go over our cues. We’re going to need them.”
He folded his arms, and she said, “Beware, stay away.” He made prayer hands. “That means help. Come here.” He pulled on his right earlobe. “You’re asking if I’m okay. And if I do this”—she mimicked putting hair behind her ear—“it means I’m fine.” He smoothed a finger over his eyebrow. “That means be alert. Listen.” He fingered a button on his shirt. “That means you’re doing fine.”
He stepped behind her to do the touch signals, cupping her elbow. “You’re asking if I’m okay.” He touched her hip. “Asking me to make an excuse and walk away.” He flattened his hand between her shoulder blades. “You want me to stay.” He tapped her shoulder twice. This was her favorite. “You’re telling me I’m doing fine.” He grazed the back of his hand over her thigh. “Time to leave together.”
She walked around him and made the same gestures, elbow, hip, mid-back, tap, tap, thigh; okay, walk away, stay, time to leave. He stayed silent, closing his fingers around her wrist.
“I don’t know that one,” she said.
“New for tonight. It means I want you to come back here, lock the door, and don’t let anyone but me in.”
She turned to face him. He’d shifted from pensive in the car to possessive, and then mad when he talked about Alex, and now he was some other emotion she couldn’t name. “It’s a party, it’s not going to be terrible.”
“It’s a precaution, and it makes me feel better to have it.” She reached for his wrist and wrapped her hand around it. From her, the gesture didn’t mean anything, but touching Cal made her feel good.
They took a golf cart to the main house where a string quartet played and a waiter poured a champagne fountain. It was all extremely elegant and difficult to imagine the Astors were tax dodge masterminds. They moved among the party goers together, Cal’s hand hovering at the small of her back, reassuringly possessive.
John Alington talked at Cal while looking at Fin’s legs. Pat McGovern stared through her like she was glass, not someone he’d given half a million dollars to. They met the Drug Lord over canapes. He pounced on Cal.
“You still trying to flog that gene therapy start up?” He was a tall, stooped man with a sour expression. Fin wondered what he had to be disappointed about. It’s not like he was poor, disadvantaged, or addicted to his own drug.
“I’m still flogging it,” Cal answered.
“Load of bunkum. Reversing aging. The science isn’t there yet.”
The Drug Lord was insulting, but Cal was equally dismissive. “You’re certainly closer to the science than I am. I only know what I’m told.” And then, he was downright combative. “This is Finley Cartwright. She runs a microfinance charity that operates in countries where you flog your brain-addling drug.”