Camille

“Do you think he dumped me?” I slick a coat of ballet slipper pink across the nail of my ring finger before blowing on it. I’m seated on the edge of the bathtub in Araminta’s suite.

“What, like you two were dating?”

“You know what I mean. I’ve never been dropped cold before. Not a single phone call or goodbye. Maybe he’s regretting letting me take off the blindfold, but I swear, Minty, I still couldn’t see anything.”

“He’s paranoid. Forget about him.”

“Easy for you to say. I’m not exaggerating when I say it was the best sex I’ve had in my life.” I clasp my hands together in prayer. “Is it selfish of me to want to keep him a bit longer? I even prayed about it last night.”

Araminta makes the sign of the cross. “Lord, hear her prayer.”

I laugh, fully owning how ridiculously absurd I sound. I’m sure God, if there is one, has more important things to do with His time. The last thing He needs to worry about is some sex-worker sending up requests like He’s some wish-granting genie in a bottle.

“I prayed for a gold Tiffany locket when I was twelve. Got one for Christmas that year.” She shrugs. “I also prayed that God would let me marry my high school boyfriend, and let me just take a moment to thank the man upstairs for unanswered prayers. I looked my ex up on Facebook the other day, and time has not been kind to him. And I heard he cheats on his wife. With men. So . . .”

“I keep checking my phone for missed calls. My ringer’s at full volume. Nothing’s coming through.”

“If he calls you, he calls you. It’s out of your control.” Araminta slicks a tube of red Chanel lipstick across her pout, then makes a kissy face in the mirror. Her blonde hair is unapologetically voluminous, and her dress dips down in the front and back. She doesn’t even have a date tonight—she just likes the attention. It’s a game to her. She sits at a bar, by herself, and tries to see how long it takes before someone offers to buy her a drink. Her record, so far, is a mere ninety-four seconds.

“So am I a free agent now?” I don’t want to move on from John, but I’ve got a waiting list of potential clients and a savings account to fill.

“I’d say so.” She clicks her blush compact and gives the apples of her cheeks a good pinch. “Shall we celebrate the fact that your beautifully cared-for and meticulously groomed lady parts officially belong to their rightful owner again?”

I laugh, grabbing her eye shadow palette and swiping my fingertip along a shimmery taupe. “You find the oddest things to celebrate.”

“Everything is worth celebrating, my friend. Life can be one big party if you want it to be.” She twirls in front of the mirror, peering over her shoulder to check out her backside. “All right. I’m good. Go get ready, you’re coming with me.”

* * *

This is the cleanest men’s room I’ve ever seen in my life.

Not that I’ve seen many.

The line for the ladies’ room was way too long, and my bladder was two seconds from exploding, so I did what I had to do.

The man standing behind me in line promised to guard the door so I could have it all to myself. Funny what all a sweet smile and a wink can get a girl in this city.

I wash my hands and pat them dry with a paper towel as someone pounds on the door.

“Hold on,” I yell, though I’m sure they don’t hear me. This bar is insanely loud, and it’s not from the music. Everyone is chatting, their voices all layered on top of one another. Everyone loves to hear themselves talk around here, but no one ever wants to shut up and listen. The pounding continues, and I yell, “Almost done.”

Crinkling the paper towel and dropping it in the trash, I check my reflection one last time before heading back out. I pull the handle and swing the door my way, taking a step and bumping right into a man dressed in a black suit and speaking into his sleeve.

“Oh. Hello,” I say.

He wears no expression and his gaze is hidden behind dark glasses. The man turns behind him and motions for someone to come closer. I squeeze between what is clearly a Secret Service agent and the doorway and prepare for a long and arduous search for Araminta. That woman never stays in the same place for long.

A second agent marches toward the men’s room, creating a parted-sea effect. I step aside and attempt to see over his shoulders, but the man’s broad shoulders block my view for a moment.

Once they get closer, I catch a glimpse of a man several yards back in a three-piece suit with his head tucked and his eyes down. Women around me gasp and nudge each other. Some of them point. Another agent walking behind the man sweeps his arms wide, as if to create some kind of shield to keep people from sneaking up from behind.

The crowd around me grows louder, more excited. Women push between other women to catch a closer glimpse. I just want to get out of this area and find Araminta, but I’m stuck in the middle of it all.

I tuck my clutch under my arm and wait for the storm to pass. The second whoever that is is in the restroom, I can push through all these crazy ladies and order another drink. Unsnapping my clutch, I decide to text Minty to find out where she is. I swear this place doubled in patrons in the last ten minutes.

When I’m halfway finished typing a quick text, I hear a woman behind me shout, “Keir!”

Naturally, I glance up.

But before I realize what’s going on, I’ve been shoved by the rowdy batch of ladies behind me, and I’m diving headfirst into the Secret Service sandwich containing one Mr. Keir Montgomery. My arms fly forward to brace myself so that I don’t hit the ground like some kind of clueless klutz, only my palms land on the front of Keir’s suit coat.

I suck in a startled breath. “Oh, my God. I’m so sorry.”

His hands take mine, and I fully expect him to push me off of him like I’m some sort of groupie who flew into him intentionally. Only he doesn’t move. Our eyes lock, and the first thing I notice is that his sapphire blue eyes are every bit as intense in person as they are on TV. His lips spread into a charmed smile, and the second thing I notice are his dimples.

My heart flutters, and heat spreads across my cheeks. This so isn’t me. I’m not a girl who gets star struck or smitten at first sight, but something’s happening to me and I kind of like it.

The agent behind him taps his shoulder, and he turns to mutter something. I can’t hear him. It’s too loud in here. But I think he told him it was okay. The agent backs off, cupping his hands at his hips and scanning the perimeter. Everyone around us stares and smiles, and I’m certain all these ladies are living this moment vicariously through me.

“So sorry about that.” I apologize for what I’m sure is the second time, but I’m not entirely sure I said it the first time. It all could’ve been in my head for all I know. This man’s aura is intensely commanding. “Those women got a little excited and pushed me into your path.”

“I know,” he says. “I saw. You were texting on your phone, not paying attention.”

My cheeks burn hotter than before. Was he checking me out? Was Keir Montgomery checking me out? I fight a smile. Araminta would be green with envy right now. He’s just as handsome in person than I’ve ever imagined him to be.

I remove my hands from his lapels and back away, offering him a dainty wave and stepping aside. The man probably has women throwing themselves at him all day long; the least I can do is let him use the restroom in peace.

Plus, there’s nothing alluring about a woman who fawns over a man after meeting him for all of ten seconds.

I head back toward the bar area, scanning the crowd for a buxom blonde with the reddest lips in the joint, and I do a little bounce and squeal when I see her.

“Araminta!” I grab her from behind, hooking into her shoulders and giving her a shake.

“Good God, what’s gotten into you?” She spins to face me, her eyes drinking me up and down. “You wander off for ten minutes and now you’re all giddy.”

“Keir is here,” I say. “Keir Montgomery.”

Her jaw falls and she whacks the side of my arm with her clutch. “You’re kidding me.”

She sits up in her stool, attempting to see above a sea of hundreds, most of them wearing every conservative shade of black and navy imaginable.

“He’s in the restroom now,” I say. “I bumped into him on my way out. But he’s here. At Bar Twelve. Tonight.”

Her red lips twist at the corner. This is the kind of opportunity Araminta’s fantasized about for years.

“Let me know when you see him again. I’d love to introduce myself.” She takes a healthy sip of her martini, eyes busy scanning.

Her fearlessness both awes and inspires, but mostly it entertains me.

Several minutes pass, and we fill the time with idle chat and shared observations about the people around us. We wait like patient saints, hoping for a sign that Keir has made his way back into the crowd. Five minutes. Ten minutes. Fifteen. We check our phones like clockwork.

“Wonder what’s taking him so long?” she asks.

“Maybe he’s not in there anymore? He could’ve snuck out a back exit.”

Her face falls and her posture deflates. She runs a nail along a streak of condensation on the bar top in front of her until an averagely attractive man in his thirties approaches her and she snaps out of her funk with a flirty side-eye and a toothy grin.

I stare ahead at the bottles behind the bar, starting with the ones on the top shelf, biding my time until Araminta either leaves with this man or lets him stick around long enough to buy her a drink before she gives him a polite boot.

I’m midway through counting the number of cobalt blue bottles when a warm palm centers on my bare back. I turn around, heart pulsing, only to meet a set of newly familiar sapphire eyes.

“Oh.” I smile as relief pushes the startle clear through me. “Hello again.”

This place is so damn loud, I’m not sure if I’m going to be able to hear a word he says, and I so badly want to hear every word this man is about to say.

My gaze settles on his face, focusing yet trying not to stare.

Strong jaw. Perfect nose. Nice lips.

Keir leans into me, and I inhale his cologne because this may be the only opportunity I’ll ever have to know what Keir Montgomery really smells like.

Old money. Leather. Vetiver.

The scent is vaguely familiar, which is odd because I’m quite certain it’s not the kind of cologne a man could buy at any old department store. Barneys, perhaps. Maybe Bergdorf.

And then it hits me. His scent reminds me of John. It’s not identical by any means, but I feel like it’s something John would wear.

For a split second, reality smacks me in the face and reminds me that John hasn’t called in days, and that sinking, ego-deflating heaviness washes over me.

“I’m Keir,” he says into my ear, his low voice tickling my eardrum and sending a quick tingle to my nerves. My skin pricks, and instantly I want to hear his voice again. “Keir Montgomery. What’s your name?”

I lean into his ear. “Camille Buchanan.”

“You look familiar, Camille,” he says, pulling away though standing closer than before. “Have we met?”

There’s a wicked gleam in his deep blue stare that sends a soul-stirring tickle to the deepest part of me. Half of his mouth lifts, revealing a dimple, and it’s all I can do not to melt right in front of him.

This man could take me home right now, hoisting me over his shoulder caveman style in front of all these people, and I wouldn’t try to stop him.

“I don’t believe we’ve met before.” My eyes trace the length of his strong jawline before drawing higher to his lips, studying the way they arch and wondering how they taste. His nose is straight, perfect. And his hair is thick and dark, the kind made for pulling.

In many ways, he reminds me of the way I imagine John might look.

I glance away for a moment, quietly scolding myself for thinking about John right now. He’s in the past. It’s over and done with. He doesn’t get to stake a claim in the forefront of my mind tonight and ruin this beautiful moment.

“It’s really loud,” Keir yells, pointing behind him. “You want to come with me to the VIP area so we can talk?”

I’m numb. Completely numb. And speechless.

How is it that I can walk into any establishment in this city and take pride in the appearance I’ve worked so hard to maintain, but when I’m approached by one of the most sought-after bachelors in the free world, all of my insecurities rise to my mind’s surface one after another?

I’ve perfected the art of looking approachable. I’m trained to represent allure and mystery and sex and fantasy, all the things a man could want and then some. Everything I’ve ever learned about becoming desirable is working in tandem to draw this man to me right now, and I still can’t help but wonder what he could possibly want with me.

“Yeah, sure.” I swallow my insecurities whole and slap a demure smile on my mouth before sliding off the barstool.

Two agents sandwich us as we make our way to an area behind red velvet ropes, and it doesn’t occur to me until we’re already there that I didn’t tell Araminta where I went.

“Phone.” An agent places his hand toward me.

I look to Keir and he nods. “Standard procedure. You’ll get it back.”

The phone goes from my purse to the agent’s palm before slipping into his front suit pocket. A group of six or seven men, friends of his perhaps, and a handful of giggling women dressed to the nines take up the space around us.

“So you were saying?” I wait for him to take a seat before occupying the one beside him. My legs cross, pointing toward him, and I angle my body for optimal conversation.

He leans in. “You look familiar to me, Camille. Do you have any idea why that would be?”

I’m not sure if this is some kind of trick question. A test maybe? Am I already supposed to know the answer?

I lift a brow. “I have no idea why that would be, Keir. I’m quite certain we’ve never met before. I’d remember meeting someone like you.”

It’s my feeble attempt to charm a charmer. Can’t blame a girl for trying.

Keir’s gaze hypnotizes and disarms me all at once, and he lifts his hand to my face. His fingers run the underside of my jaw, leaving a trail of frenzied nerves in their path. If he touches me again, I’m certain my heart will beat out of my chest.

“I can’t shake the feeling we were meant to cross paths tonight.” His stare hasn’t broken. We’re locked this way.

“I don’t believe in destiny, only random coincidence.”

His hand falls to the side of my neck, his thumb raking the front. I need to swallow but I’m paralyzed. My tongue rakes my bottom lip, and I inhale.

“You’re very beautiful, Camille.” I swear he inches closer, but all I can do is focus on steadying my breathing.

Women pass, gawking, pointing, and smiling covetous smiles. I see them all, but Keir doesn’t.

“Thank you,” I say.

His hand is still hooked on my neck, and his gaze falls to my pout. He wants to kiss me . . .

Keir Montgomery wants to kiss me.

My eyes flutter shut as the pressure on the back of my neck guides me to his lips. His mouth grazes along mine, the heat a tortuous tease seconds before the real thing. This heart-stopping kiss comes with a side of tongue and two of the softest lips I’ve ever tasted.

Keir’s fingers glide up the nape of my neck, taking a fistful of hair while he claims my mouth. His kisses feel like John and taste like fine alcohol. I lift my hands to his face, as if the pads of my fingers might remember the way he felt beneath them.

With eyes closed, everything about this is eerily familiar. His hands in my hair. The stroke of his soft lips on mine. The tempo of his greedy kisses. The rich scent filling my lungs with each breathless gasp for air.

I pull away, studying his face as if I could possibly know what it might look like bathed in pitch black.

“Why’d you stop?” His fist in my hair relaxes.

This can’t be John.

John wouldn’t approach me at a bar, lead me behind a velvet rope and make out with me in front of every patron within a five-foot radius.

Unless John was drunk, and then . . .

I wouldn’t know, because I’ve never seen him in that condition.

“Do you want privacy? Is that what you want?” he asks.

“The way you kiss me,” I say. “It’s very distinct.”

His eyes flash. “You like it.”

His response is more of a statement than a question.

I nod, biting my bottom lip like I’m some kind of coy schoolgirl. I’m not sure what’s gotten into me, but I’m throwing tactics and techniques out the window at every turn. When he looks at me with that intense blue stare, I can’t think straight.

“Do you want to go somewhere private?” he says into my ear.

My chest tingles. I’m finding it difficult to speak at the moment. My mind runs a million miles per hour, and any attempt to listen to my gut instinct is quashed by the loudness of my thoughts and the haywire nerves sprawling along every inch of my body.

Keir rises, reaching to take my hand. I place it in his, and he pulls me up and into him, slipping his hand around the small of my back. He leans into me again, and I inhale his sexy scent for the millionth time tonight. I could bathe in it.

“I want to take you home with me.” His words send a pulse between my thighs.

I don’t know what to say. I mean, I know what I want to say . . .

That’s obvious.

But all I can hear are Araminta’s words echoing my mind, and I know damn well the fantasy of being with a Montgomery brother is likely a million times better than the reality. Less dangerous, too.

Keir guides my face to his, and I linger in his wonderfully wicked gaze before making my decision.

“Look at me, Camille. You can trust me.”

“What . . . did you say?”

“You can trust me, Camille.” He smiles, dimples anchoring his cheeks.

I want to hear his voice without all of this external noise. I know John’s voice, and I know the way it feels rumbling through his chest and filtering through a silent room. It’s crisp and clear, low and virile.

“Come,” he takes my hand, nodding toward an agent who follows us down a long hall.

Warm jealousy displaces my excitement when I ponder the idea that Keir is, in fact, John, and that he possibly spends his free evenings in bars, picking up women who fawn all over him because he’s one of the most irresistible bachelors on the face of the planet.

I know so little about John that such a scenario wouldn’t be entirely implausible.

Keir yanks me around a corner while his agents block the hallway. No one’s getting in. No one’s getting out.

It’s not as quiet as I’d hoped and there’s a ringing in my ears, but at least we’re away from prying eyes. In all my years, I’ve never been keen on exhibitionism.

His mouth covers my collarbone, his teeth grazing my flesh. My head dips back and waits for his lips to travel a natural path. From my collar to the center of my neck, his kisses grow harder, greedier. Keir’s free hand caresses my left breast, massaging until it hurts just enough to feel good.

The room spins a moment later, and I’m not sure if I’m drunk or drunk off of sheer infatuation and physical delight. All signs point to everything.

“Come home with me.” His lips leave me as our eyes meet once again.

“I shouldn’t.” My mind overrides my body for a moment. I’ve had a few drinks. I don’t want to do something I might regret.

In all my years in this city, I’ve never gone home with a man just because I wanted to. Cheap and easy has never been my modus operandi. Giving away the goods for free is the worst thing a woman can do with a man who looks this good and kisses like this. He’s probably never had to work for a single lay in his life.

“Aren’t you curious, Camille?” His dimpled smile makes me forget and miss John all at once, and then I scold myself for missing someone I don’t even know. “You can trust me.”

Those words . . .

“Why do you keep saying that?” My brain attempts to piece together his words as if they’re riddles.

“Because there are very few people a beautiful woman like you should trust in a city like this,” he says. “And I’m one of them. Trust that I know how to make you feel incredible, Camille. Know that out of all the women here tonight, you’re the only one I would remotely consider bringing home with me.”

I stare into his dark blue eyes and run my fingers against the hollow above his jaw.

“What aren’t you telling me?” I test the waters.

“There are plenty of things I’m not telling you,” he says. “Just as there are plenty of things you’re not telling me. Isn’t it better that way? More mystery. More excitement.”

“It depends.”

“On . . . ?”

“What drew you to me tonight?”

He sighs, scratching the spot above his temple. He’s growing frustrated with my questions, or perhaps the fact that I’m not as easy as I look.

“I told you, you’re the most exquisite woman here tonight, and there’s something familiar about you.” Keir takes a strand of my hair and twists it around his finger before letting it fall. “Tell me, Camille. Am I familiar to you? Haven’t you ever looked at someone and just known?”

There’s a flurry in my chest and the air around me grows thinner.

“This is a game to you, isn’t it?” I ask. “You speak in codes.”

“Everything’s a game.” His answer comes quickly, and he smirks, leaning in to taste my lips. “Leave with me, Camille. You want to. I can see it in those curious, dark eyes of yours.”

My thighs squeeze as his words penetrate my apprehensive little fortress. If Keir is John or if he isn’t, I suppose it doesn’t really matter. Or it’s all the same.

Funny how Keir showed up in my life the second it became clear that “John” was finished with me.

“Okay.” The word feels uncertain in my mouth, and the pounding from the music has caused some kind of temporary, mild deafness. Everything sounds tinny and hollow and far away, even my own voice.

He slips his hand around mine and leads me out a back door to a waiting limousine. A driver stands next to the passenger door, and I climb in first. I hear Keir tell the driver to take us to the Hightower apartment, and my heartrate skyrockets.

He enters the running car, his eyes intense and determined, and takes the seat next to me. Pulling me into his lap, he grips my face and guides my mouth to his. The car pulls away a moment later, city lights streaking past the windows in a multi-colored blur.

“You’re taking me to the Hightower?” I ask between kisses, my fingers digging into his scalp.

“Yes.” His hands cradle my ass, pulling me close enough that I feel the growing bulge in his pants.

“It’s you, isn’t it?” My words are buoyant and breathless. I’m disgusted with myself for craving validation that I’m still worthy of being wanted by a faceless man. “You’re him.”

Keir’s lips are against my neck, his hands tugging up the hem of my dress. He slips a finger under the crotch of my lace panties and glides it between my folds.

“Tell me you’re him,” I whisper into his ear.

“Do you want me to be?” His voice is low, monotonous. Void of infliction. I’ve heard this voice before. I know it.

My eyes squeeze as my hands trail along his strong jaw and perfect nose, and my hips grind against his prodding fingers.

“I need to hear you say it.” I breathe in his scent as it fuses with mine.

And then I ask myself why it matters. I’m not John’s anymore, and I certainly don’t have feelings for a man whose face I’ve never seen. A flood of questions rushes through me all at once, demanding my attention when I’d much rather be focusing on the way Keir’s hands own my body and his mouth takes whatever it wants without asking.

Thoughts of John refuse to be dismissed.

My bruised ego chooses this moment to remind me that I’m inferior. Mediocre. Worthy only of rejection. I find Keir’s lips once more, as if his tongue against mine could possibly reinflate my self-esteem.

“What do you want me to say, Camille?” His hands snake up my sides as his words breathe hot on my skin. The car pulls to a stop, and I glance out the window to see the well-lit Hightower sign. “I think you know exactly who I am.”

His voice reverberates from his chest to mine, a low hum laced with wicked desire. The driver opens the passenger door and offers his hand. Two agents step out of a black SUV that must have been following us the whole way here.

Keir’s words play on a loop in my mind. “I think you know exactly who I am.”

He could be saying what I think he’s saying . . .

Or he could be stating the obvious; that he’s Keir Montgomery.

He leads me by the hand through the front door, the security guard nodding us through, and by the time we find the elevator, he jerks me in, slams the close button, and brushes me up against the far wall.

With Keir’s hands in my hair, I can’t think straight, nor do I want to. Lust dizzies and consumes me, clouding out my busy thoughts, if only temporarily.

“I have a confession to make.” His whisper against my ear saturates my senses and renders me immobile. Keir’s hand travels between my thighs, brushing against my sensitive core from outside my lace panties.

“What is it, Keir? What’s your confession?”

His teeth nip my earlobe, and the elevator door dings and parts. “I hoped I would run into you tonight.”

My swollen lips tingle as he drags me by the wrist to the familiar door of the Hightower corporate apartment.

“What do you mean?” I ask, my words breathless.

He scans his fob against the lock, pushing the door open. The place is fully illuminated.

“I may know more about you than I’ve let on,” he says, kicking the door closed behind us. Keir’s fingers work to drag the zipper down my back, but I step away. His perfect mouth pulls into a haughty smirk. Keir makes arrogant look as sexy as it’s ever going to look. “I know who you are, Camille. I’ve heard of you many times, and let’s just say you have a reputation for being . . . the best.”

His words sink into me. He isn’t John. Then again, my intuition tried to tell me that all night, I just didn’t want to listen.

“How do you have access to this apartment?” I swallow the hard lump in my throat.

Keir laughs and flicks the light switch until the place is dark and the city night twinkles from the picture window behind him.

“What kind of question is that?” His gaze lands on my shaking hands, and he takes them in his. “And why are you trembling, Camille?”

All these random puzzle pieces belong to the same puzzle, but none of them fit together. The way John came into my life and disappeared without explanation. The missing journal. Bancroft writing me off. And now Keir Montgomery picking me up in a bar and taking me back to the very same place where John claimed I’d be safe.

Nothing about this is random coincidence.

And the key fob.

If John were truly done with me, he’d have asked for it back.

“I should go.” I pull away from him and hurry toward the door.

His handsome face sours as he follows. “Camille . . . ”

I’m done. I’m done with John. I’m done with this job and this city.

“I can’t sleep with you, Keir.” I grip the doorknob and feel him behind me. The heat of his breath down my spine is a wordless protest.

His hands rest on the curve of my hips before gripping the zipper. He pulls the metal slider up the chain before gathering my hair in his hands. He guides my ear to his mouth, and I shudder when the warmth of his lips meets the side of my neck.

“How much do I have to pay you?” he growls. “You’re a hooker, and I want to fuck you. What’s the going rate these days?”

Never before has the truth hurt with such blinding intensity. My eyes burn with the threat of tears, and I’m grateful he can’t see my face in its weakened state.

“You can’t afford me.” My jaw clenches.

“Everybody has a price.”

“I’m not for sale,” I say. “Not anymore.”

His hand slides down my hip, snaking around to my front where he pulls at the hem of my dress.

“God, you’re so fucking wet right now.” His fingertips press against the outside of my panties. “It’d be a shame to let that go to waste, especially when you were just seconds from giving it away for free.”

“Please let me go.” I steady my words so he can’t hear the quaver in my voice. “I don’t want to be here anymore.”

His free hand snakes up my other side, caressing the underside of my breast and pulling me back against him. What a foolish woman I am, believing for one moment that Keir Montgomery picked me out of a bar because I was especially worthy of a night with him.

“We’re cut from the same cloth, you and me,” he says. “We know how to make someone feel like they’re the only person in the room. We know all the right moves, all the right things to say. People are naturally drawn to us. Not everyone can be as charismatic and alluring as we are, Camille. We see things in others that no one else does. It’s our fucking superpower.”

His breath drags down my bare back, followed by a biting kiss.

“Sex with me would be explosive, and you know it,” he says. “Haven’t you ever wondered what it would be like to spend a night with your equal? To fuck someone truly worthy of this exquisite little pussy you’re packing?”

I already have.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I huff.

“I speak the truth.”

“For the first time tonight.”

“When I pulled you aside earlier,” he says, spreading my thighs apart before dragging a cupped palm across my ass. “What did you think I wanted with you? What’d you think would happen when you left with me?”

I pull in a deep breath, clenching my thighs back together. “You reminded me of someone I know. I thought maybe you were . . .”

My ridiculous thought fails to finish itself.

He laughs. “Who else would I be? I gave you my name. I never once said I was anyone else, did I?”

Nope.

I hate that he has a point.

His fist tightens around my hair, giving it a good tug before letting me go.

“Anyway, I’m bored with . . . this.” Keir backs away, and I release a harbored breath. “You can go now, whore.”

I don’t recall leaving the apartment, riding the elevator down, or bursting out the front door, but before I know it, my heels are clicking down the pavement at near-jogging speed, and a man runs after me.

A stoplight at the corner holds me up as I scan the area for a Metro sign. I should have enough left on my Metro card to get home from here.

Heavy footsteps tromp in the distance, growing nearer with each second.

“Ma’am, stop,” a man’s voice says, slightly breathless. I turn to see one of Keir’s agents coming toward me, his hand in his pocket. “This is for you.”

He pulls out my phone and then glances around before presenting a plain white envelope stuffed with cash. He offers no explanation. He doesn’t need to. I know what this money buys, and that would be my silence.

“I don’t want it.” I wave it off as the crosswalk signal turns white and a thirty-second countdown begins.

The agent’s mouth takes the shape of a frown. He won’t be satisfied unless I take the bribe.

“Fine.” I yank Keir’s dirty money from the man’s hand, shove it in my bag, and trot across the street. If I didn’t take it, I’m sure he’d pull as many strings as it took to ensure my silence was scared into me.

As soon as I spot a Metro sign, I pull out my phone to text Araminta. She’s probably wondering where the hell I ran off to, despite the fact that she regularly pulls this stunt with me.

I linger outside the Metro station and try my best to peck out a quick text with shaky fingers, but before I get a chance to press the send button, a blocked call comes through.

“Camille.” John’s voice comes through on the other end when I answer. “Where are you right now?”