Page 63 of When Hearts Ignite

The space hums with excitement, with energy, as the top one percent of the world mingles in throngs, eager to spend thousands of dollars like chump change.

I’ve heard this is a mixer for the elite in the financial industry, which means everyone who is anyone on the East Coast is probably in this room. My hands grow damp, and I sweep my eyes around the room, hoping I don’t see the tall, handsome silhouette of the man I’ve never forgotten about.

Pasting a smile on my face, I waltz up to the roulette table and smile at the gentlemen gathered there. I’m Lady Luck, and I’m here to put you at ease and learn your secrets. Secrets I’ll then relay back to Elias, whose rise to power, I suspect, has everything to do with the amount of sordid information he knows and barters for deals to be made. Violence is so last century, he would say, before he disappears into the shadows.

“Hello, beautiful. Which firm do you work at?” A middle-aged man whose waistline tells me he knows gourmet food intimately smiles at me before extending his hand. “I’m Harold Jenkins from Finch Capital.”

“Genevieve, nice to meet you. I work here at The Orchid.” I gingerly place my hand in his.

His fingers tighten as understanding dawns in his eyes, and the professionalism from a moment ago slips away like a snake shedding its skin. He steps closer, temporarily forgetting the game as his eyes drift down my body in a languid perusal.

Acid churns in my gut, but I force myself not to move and to maintain the smile on my face.

Finally, his eyes meet mine again and his lips curl into a sneer. “A Rose girl? Are you open for companionship?”

Looking down at my manicured hands, I feign demureness, when I want nothing more than to kick his balls and relish in his howl of pain. “I’m not a companion. I’m a dancer at Trésor.”

“Ah. The burlesque club. I have not been there before, but…” he steps back and eyes me from head to toe, “I think I should visit.”

Revulsion curls around my throat like a noose and I murmur, “We’d be delighted to have you. In the meantime, would you like me to place a bet for you?”

Harold grins and holds his hands open, giving me access to his chips. Smiling, I take a few chips and place them on the red number thirty. Glancing at the dealer in front of me, I touch my right ear, the universal signal for a round to be in our favor. With an infinitesimal nod, the dealer, a young man with reddish brown hair, rolls the ball into a wheel, which—I’m not sure how Elias engineers this—will no doubt land on my number of choice.

Stepping up to Harold, I watch his pupils dilate as my fingers graze his tie. “So, Harold, I hear Finch is working on a deal to offload TransAmerica with the hostile takeover. I have some stocks in TA myself,” I bat my eyes at him, watching his oily face flush, “I’m worried about losing my savings. Would you know something about this?”

I bite on my lip softly, as not to ruin the lipstick, and the crowd beside us cheer and the dealer announces, “Red, thirty.”

Clasping my hand to my mouth, I gasp in mock surprise. “Lucky me! Look, you doubled your investment, Harold!”

Harold laughs and slides his hand on top of mine, giving it a quick squeeze. “You’re my lucky charm for tonight.” He leans in and whispers, “And I’ll have you know…Finch is selling the shares to Pietra. I’d look at liquidating what you have…things will get ugly soon, honey.”

My pulse skyrockets at the name of the firm he works at. The place I used to dream I’d work at after graduation instead of here. My eyes dart around the room, searching for the unmistakable man, hoping the stars are on my side.

“Genevieve?” Harold’s eyes are glued to my cleavage again.

I let out a soft laugh, hoping I’m convincing, and lean in to kiss him on the cheek. Mission accomplished with the first target.

Pietra is in active pursuit and Finch is one of the marks. I knew Steven had plans months ago. I guess they are in action now. Elias should be pleased with this tidbit. Hopefully, he’d considered this as part of the signing bonus repayment.

“It was lovely to meet you, Harold. If you’re ever in need of entertainment, Trésor always welcomes you.”

With one last smile, I spin away, walking as gracefully as I can toward the refreshment table, so I can grab a piece of tissue and wipe off any remaining trace of him from my lips.

One more year, Grace. You can do this. My thoughts race as I hasten my stride to the table ahead, bitterness swarming in my gut. Life is one big adventure. Even on the scenic route, there’d be rough paths and winding curves. A beautiful view lies ahead.

Affirmations, mantras, whatever you want to call it, the flimsiest thoughts keeping me sane.

At least Taylor is doing well at ABTC now. The sacrifice was worth it. Two months ago, ABTC poached Taylor from Petit Jeté, and with my generous wages here, I was able to support her dreams. Taylor called me two days ago after her first showcase there. The excitement seeping from her voice over the phone brought me to tears. My sister is happy, so happy, and living her best life.

What’s one more year? If I could turn back time, I wouldn’t have changed a thing, other than maybe killing Carl myself.

I’m so entrenched in my thoughts, I make a rookie mistake, momentarily forgetting the first lesson Mom taught us as young women growing up in the underbelly of the Bronx—pay attention to your surroundings.

A flash of black slams into me from the front with the force of a linebacker and before my lips can part in a cry, my feet, clad in five-inch heels, wobble from the impact, and I topple backward, my arms flailing.

Time slows as the ceiling lights swirl together and my muscles tense, my eyes clamping shut as I brace myself for the hard impact on the wooden floor.

But the floor never comes.

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