Devil's Contract

Our parents had been close acquaintances and her family had stayed at my hotel dozens of times over the decades. Had one of my employees missed including my friend on my daily report of VIPs?

“You know Jonathon. He insists we stay at the Waldorf.”

“Oh, where is Jonathon? I’d love to say hello,” I say, glancing around for her aging husband and finding a young stud just over her shoulder instead. It only takes me a second to put the pieces together.

Our eyes meet and my friend winks, confirming my suspicions.

Taking a longer look at the muscle-bound eye candy standing bored behind her, I return to her gaze. Leaning closer, I say softly, “He looks yummy, at least with that tuxedo on. Hopefully, he’s even better with it off.”

It’s a risqué comment for polite society, but since I specialize in keeping the well-hidden secrets of the rich and famous, it’s right in my wheelhouse.

Leizel doesn’t disappoint, leaning in to whisper back, “Even better,” with a sly smile on her lips.

“Then I’m happy you’re staying at the Waldorf. I wouldn’t want your neighbors calling security for noise complaints,” I shoot back, my polite smile never wavering.

Her pale face blushes and we both giggle like teenagers at a slumber party before I remember where I am. We both do our best to regain our elegant composure before she starts to move away into the crowd.

“Be sure to pass my love on to Jonathon,” I say as she departs with a little wave. I’m exceedingly pleased with myself for uncovering a juicy secret within minutes of my arrival.

We aren’t ten feet away before Tristan says, “You’re having entirely too much fun.”

It’s annoying that he knows me well enough to parrot what I’m thinking.

“You say it like it’s a game,” I say under my breath.

“Isn’t it? And baby, you play the secret game better than anyone I know.”

My heart lurches, only making me more annoyed, this time at myself. He hasn’t used a term of endearment directed my way in months.

He must be up to something.

But I don’t have time to think about Tristan. Not when I’m walking the crowd, shaking hands with politicians, hugging celebrities, kissing fashion designers, and…

What the hell is he doing here?

I’m grateful when Tristan jumps in to carry the conversation with the small group of musicians we are chatting with, giving me a moment to calm my pulse at seeing the one man in the city I have no desire to see. If this was some fucked-up version of the game ‘one of these things doesn’t belong,’ I know exactly who I’d name the winner. His back is to me, but I know that silhouette anywhere.

As if Dex feels my displeasure from across the room, he spins around, almost catching me glaring at him. Just in the nick of time I glance away, feigning interest in Lady Gaga’s outrageous gown. I don’t dare look back again, and I don’t need to anyway. I know exactly what I’d see.

An impostor—hard masculine perfection on the outside, but a molten pool of evil brewing on the inside.

Yet as I sneak another peek his way, I begrudgingly acknowledge, at least to myself, he is a master at playing the role of respectable gentleman in public. His stylish tuxedo may be a clever disguise, but I never fall for it. I need to push memories of the private Dex I’ve known my entire life out of my mind. He’s already taken up too much room in my brain over the years and now that I’ve successfully ejected him and everything he stands for from my life, I refuse to give him even one more minute of myself.

Time ticks by as Tristan and I continue to work the room—laughing and smiling while making mental notes I know we’ll have fun chatting about over a glass of wine at home later. I run through the list in my head, making sure I won’t forget important details when I get back to my notebook.

First, the recently separated actress hasn’t announced it yet, but I notice she’s sneaking nonalcoholic beverages disguised in champagne flutes.

She’s pregnant.

I wonder if the baby-daddy is here tonight? I glance around nonchalantly, but don’t see any possible suspects waiting for her.

Even more salacious is the famously married host of the number one national news program excusing himself from our small group to head to the restroom with his best friend. As his wife prattles on, I have the perfect vantage point to see the men walk past the restroom, letting themselves into an unlocked closet just beyond. I stay facing that direction until they come out ten minutes later, flushed and sweaty.

Oh, my goodness, they’re on the down-low.

We aren’t but a few feet away when Tristan leans in to whisper, “Did you see what I saw?”

I keep my public smile plastered on my face as I acknowledge, “I did. That was a pretty bold move.”