Page 120 of The Price of Forever

“Until it’s time to leave.” She sniffed, adjusting the corset top of her dress. “Can we go in now and get this over with?”

“What’s the safe word?”

She lifted a brow, looking over at me with amusement. “Oh, you want that now?”

“Don’t be stupid,” I warned her. “We need a word if you need to escape, or if something goes wrong. It can be whatever you want. Just pick one.”

“Fine.” She drew a sharp breath, looking up to the sky. “Greek.”

“Funny.”

“It was the first thing I thought of,” she hissed, her nostrils flaring, turning slightly my way. Of course her little nickname for me had to crop up again. Just as I opened my mouth to mention the Greek god reference, the door swung open.

Eli stood before us, smirking in a sky-blue seersucker. A marbled foyer stretched behind him, dotted with enormous vases, sprawling palms, and the rush of an indoor waterfall.

“Look at you.” He punctuated each word with a hard ending, his gaze sliding over Jordan from top to bottom.

“We match,” Jordan said with a little laugh.

“This your bodyguard?” Eli asked without looking my way.

“Sure is,” she said.

His gaze slid to me. “God, don’t you just love your fucking job? Following this tight little body around everywhere?”

Something dark and liquid slid through me, causing my fists to clench behind my back, where I had my wrists crossed. Jordan giggled, swatting at his chest. If she took any issue with his disgusting tone, she didn’t show it.

“Oh, stop,” she teased. “It’s a boring job, I promise.”

“Well come on in, you two. The party’s just getting started.” Eli offered his arm, which Jordan happily took. He led her inside and I followed, but he stopped short in the foyer. Where we stood was empty, but the sounds of a party wafted in from deeper in the house. The clamor of voices; the occasional laugh; a champagne cork popping.

Once the door swung shut behind me, Eli lifted a finger and said, “One quick thing. You”—he pointed at me—“can hang around but not at her side. Stick to the sidelines where you belong. And before we go any further, I’ll need you both to sign an NDA.”

A man appeared from one of the hallways as if on cue. I couldn’t tell if he was hired help or just a friend with impeccable timing. He produced a clipboard that held a small stack of papers and got a pen ready for us.

Jordan glanced my way. “What’s an NDA?”

“A non-disclosure agreement. Listen, you might not get it yet, but I have powerful friends, gorgeous.” His slick grin was borderline sociopathic, but the words that came out of his mouth grated on me like sandpaper against a wound. “My guests like to know they can expect privacy. Who knows who you’ll meet here tonight? The mayor, a former president, some senators, an actor or five; they all come to my parties.”

“Sounds fine by me,” she said brightly, reaching for the pen.

When her gaze lingered over the text, Eli rushed to add, “It’s all standard stuff, gorgeous. I promise. Whatever you see or hear tonight, you didn’t see or hear tonight.”

I could tell Jordan was rushing to read more. He jostled the clipboard in front of her.

“Come on. We’ve got to make the rounds. Chop chop.”

She scribbled on the contract, then handed the pen to me.

“Does he speak English?” Eli asked Jordan about me, without even looking my way as I took the clipboard from the helper, flipping to the next page.

“Of course he does, he’s just very focused on work. That’s why I hired him.” Jordan’s voice faded slightly as they started for the party. I noticed Jordan had signed her stage name, Sapphire, in near chicken scratch. I made my signature as close to a straight line as possible and gave the clipboard back to the assistant.

Eli and Jordan were halfway into the front room when I caught up with them. Through the open French doors, a bustling party was underway. Guests littered the room, sitting in clusters on large, overstuffed couches or chatting in corners with heads bowed together. The vibe was refined debauchery, like a modern, high-class opium den—mostly men in suit coats or business casual attire, and everyone held cocktail glasses or tumblers. The small handful of women in attendance clustered together, wearing skimpy dresses or form-fitting bodysuits. On the coffee table nearby, a long mirror was dusted with white, remnants of lines visible. Eli led us through the front room and into the next, toward two men standing in the corner, beginning his rounds with Jordan as promised.

I clung to the nearest wall, scoping out the room. This looked like a boys club, though I hadn’t spotted any celebrities or senators yet. Servers flitted around, carrying trays full of empty glasses or fresh drinks. Once, it looked like a server carried smeared drug trays, though I wasn’t sure if they were going for a wash or a refill.

Jordan shone like a diamond on Eli’s arm, laughing as she interacted with the other guests, swatting Eli’s arm, playing the sweetest, coyest little flirt. If I could relax even slightly, I’d have joked that she deserved an Emmy. But with Eli’s arm wrapped around her, his hand creeping closer to her ass, or draping along her shoulders, I found it hard to do anything but fume.

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