“That’s a nice dress, Wasp,” he added, his cool gaze on me.

Cool.

That was the right word.

Cool.

This wasn’t fun, easy-going Fenway.

This was the darker, sexier one.

And if I wasn’t mistaken, he was pissed.

Did he know?

Surely not.

I was very careful about my reputation.

“And who might you be?” Faye asked him, giving him an assessing glance.

“You mean he hasn’t been one of your clients?” Richard asked, smirking. “With his reputation with women? This is Fenway Arlington,” he said.

“Richard. It’s been a while.”

“Still Scotch?” Richard asked, rising, buttoning his suit jacket.

“Always,” Fenway said, gaze barely leaving me.

“So how do you two know each other?” Faye asked, clearly picking up on the tension, and seemingly enjoying it.

“We met in Paris,” Fenway supplied since my tongue felt paralyzed in my mouth. “Toured the world together,” he added as I numbly accepted my drink from Aero as he returned, taking his seat, oblivious to the dark mood around the table.

“Did you do anything fun?” Aero asked, shuffling his chips around.

“Would you like to tell them about the cave in Bali, darling, or should I?”

“Scotch,” Richard cut in, saving me from having to answer. “Fenway, are you still a terrible player?” he asked as the dealer started handing out cards.

“Apparently,” Fenway agreed, and I was pretty sure everyone but Faye and I missed his double meaning.

“So, Wasp,” Aero said a moment later, shifting in his seat, sensing the tension, but not able to pinpoint it, just wanting to mitigate it. “What is it you do for a living? And no need to pretend here. We are all open about our… more unsavory dealings. Nothing leaves this table.”

“I’m a dog trainer,” I claimed, my go-to, and also what I needed to say with Fenway’s gaze boring into me like it was.

“Really?” another voice asked from behind me, making me tense up as I felt the owner of it moving close. So close, in fact, that he rested a hand at the back of my chair, knuckles touching my bare back as his other hand moved around me. Expensive, spicy cologne teased my nose as his fingers traced down the length of my cold chain, toying with the bee pendant. “That’s not the way I hear it, Wasp,” he said in a delicious accent—English or maybe even East African—making me tense again. “The word on the street is our new guest here is a conwoman,” the stranger claimed, making bile rise up in my throat as Fenway’s eyes widened. Surprised? Hurt? Both? I didn’t know. But this man refused to leave it at that. “Known for sweetheart cons, if I’m not mistaken,” he added, finally releasing my pendant, moving out from behind me, going around the table, giving me my first sight of him.

Eamon Awan, I decided.

The man looked like a model with his Middle Eastern coloring, his inky black hair, his pristine shape-up, and his short beard. He wore all black, giving him an intimidating look that was right there in his surprising light green eyes.

“See!” Faye declared as my gaze followed our host, wondering why he was outing me, what he stood to gain from that, keeping my focus there because I couldn’t stomach the look of disgust I was sure was on Fenway’s face right about then. “I knew I liked you,” Faye added, smiling. “This is Eamon, by the way,” she said. “The owner of this lovely establishment.”

“You’ll learn to forgive me,” Eamon declared, keeping unnerving eye contact with me as he moved behind Faye, clamping a hand on Fenway’s shoulder.

“I’m not so sure I will,” I told him, voice tight.

“You can live a lie all you like outside of these walls,” he told me. “But in here, we air our dirty laundry. It keeps everyone from being able to use anything against the other guests.”

From a business perspective, I could respect that. If I was a true guest here, a regular like the others seemed to be, I would be appreciative of that sort of measure.

But as a woman sitting across from a man who had been her most recent mark, who was in love with him despite not believing I was capable, I was furious.

“Yes, well, I think I am no longer going to be a guest of your fine establishment,” I snapped, rising, turning, making my way toward the door.

“Hey, you can’t—” a guard warned me, hand curling around my arm.

I wasn’t anyone’s martial arts Barbie.

But I’d taken a couple self-defense classes with Raven as a sort of business move, always wanting to make sure we could take care of ourselves and each other should a job go south.

I’d only ever needed to use my memorized moves once in the past. A part of me was convinced that the only reason I’d been successful was because the man had been tanked.

And my advantage here seemed to be that this man didn’t think I would turn on him.

Tags: Jessica Gadziala Professionals Billionaire Romance
Source: readsnovelonline.net