The Pawn (Endgame 1)

Damon leans close. “How is Gabriel treating you? Tell me honestly.”

The sparkle in his eye says it’s more filthy curiosity than concern for me. Gabriel makes a low growling noise that has Damon chuckling. They’re sharks, I realize. Sharp teeth. A taste for blood. And I’m wounded.

“Is Candy here?” I ask, hoping Ivan Tabakov likes the theater. I could use more of her advice. These men might be sharks, but she’s learned how to tame them.

“No,” Damon says with a smirk. “I think this is past her bedtime.”

A woman waved to Gabriel—a tall and leggy blonde I didn’t recognize. I wanted to think her makeup was trashy or her dress too revealing, but she looked perfect. I hated that Gabriel gave us a curt, “Excuse me a moment,” before going to speak with her.

I tried not to shoot daggers with my eyes. I had no right to be jealous. No desire to be jealous. This was a business arrangement, however cold that felt.

“So how is he really treating you?” Damon asks, his voice mild.

“Fine,” I say tightly, pretending not to watch the way the woman touches Gabriel’s arm. I look up at the balcony instead, catching a few people staring at me.

“Don’t tell me I need to ride to your rescue. I’d hate to have to return my percentage of the money. And my armor is all rusty.”

My laugh feels raw, my eyes strangely stinging. “No, I’m fine. I guess I should thank you. If you hadn’t done all that I’d have lost my family’s house.”

He ducks his head, looking almost boyish. “I’d say anytime, but I guess we already popped the cork on that champagne bottle.”

A startled laugh bursts out of me. What a comparison. If I had to be champagne at least I’m a bottle of Moët et Chandon, the kind Daddy got for my graduation party.

Of course, technically the cork hasn’t popped.

My cheeks heat with the realization. “Right.”

“I have to admit I was a bit nervous when Gabriel suggested the auction. And definitely when he bid on you. But it seems like it’s working out.”

Why was he nervous about me with Gabriel? Another head turns in my direction, only to quickly look away when we make eye contact. “Everyone’s staring at me.”

He scans the room. “To be fair, they’d do that for anyone on Gabriel’s arm.”

“But they know. At least some of them have to know about the auction. So many people were there. And that’s not even counting the pictures.”

He quirks a brow. “Pictures?”

“You know, the pictures you took to generate interest for the auction. The photographer at the Den.”

There’s a long pause where he looks quizzical. He speaks slowly, thoughtfully. “There weren’t any pictures, Ms. James. Gabriel said you bailed on him, that you couldn’t go through with the shoot. Is that true?”

My heart thuds, a worried beat. Why did he lie? No one saw those pictures. I try to keep the relief from my face. No one except for Gabriel Miller. “Yes.”

The corner of his mouth turns up. “No, I guess I’m not worried about you.”

Just then Gabriel returns to us, his mouth set in a hard line.

Damon takes the opportunity to slip away, giving us a jovial wave. “Now I have more people to talk to, more men who desperately want to part with their money.”

He strides away, waving to another group of people. He’s clearly using this evening for business. Is that what Gabriel is doing? Except he doesn’t seem interested in talking to anyone but me. And he lied about the pictures.

“If you want to mingle, you don’t have to take me along,” I say.

He cocks his brow. “Why would I want to mingle?”

“I don’t know. Business.” A shrug. “For the same reason Damon’s here.”

“He’s here because he’s lusting after a certain dancer in the show. And I don’t do business at the theater.”

“Where do you do business, then? A back alley?”

As soon as the words leave my lips, I wish I could take them back. That’s not an arrow I meant to fling. And no one gets away with insulting Gabriel Miller like that.

He laughs softly. “What makes you think I’m a criminal?”

But then this is Gabriel Miller, who values honesty above everything. And I remember what Harper told me, that he would be honest with me too. He might evade the question, he might refuse to answer, but whatever he said would be the truth.

“You’re friends with Damon Scott.”

“Ah, that.”

“And you’re a member of the Den.”

“A founding member, actually,” he says. “But your father did business with me. How bad can I be?”

His tone is blithe because we both know that my father was involved in a lot of underhanded dealings. I’d never have guessed it, but it all came out in court. The bribes, the dummy corporations. God. Of course Gabriel Miller managed to keep his name completely out of court documents, only supplying the evidence that the prosecutor needed to begin his investigation.