Page 39 of Forbidden Mistress

“What? What’s wrong? Was that Hart?” Haley asks.

“No. It’s my douchebag stepbrother,” I spit. “I called his assistant yesterday to try and find out who my dad’s lawyer was. I figured it was probably the same person who worked on all the company stuff. Clearly Liam got wind of the fact that I called her—even though I explicitly told her not to mention it to him. Traitor.”

“Well, he’s the one who signs her paychecks,” Haley says. “So she wasn’t actually being a traitor.”

I scowl at her, half-joking but also half-annoyed by her sound logic. “Whose side are you on?”

She holds her hands up. “Your side, always.”

I sigh and reach over to scoop up my discarded phone. “What time is it? If I’m going to Obscura, I need to start getting ready.”

Andrew won’t be picking me up, obviously, so I’ll need to find my own way over to Obscura. But thanks to Hart’s generous deposit into my bank account, paying for gas or an Uber won’t be an issue.

It’s just the frustration of dealing with traffic that’s the bummer. I’ve been spoiled by having a private driver pick me up and drop me off every night. I already miss Andrew.

I get ready in record time, shower, do my hair and makeup. But today I decide to wear a dress that’s a little more in-line with the mask Hart gave to me. It’s a dress I bought for a Vegas weekend a couple years ago—off-white, shimmery, with a wrap-around skirt, cinched with a gold loop, and strips of fabric that cross over my breasts. The slit up the thigh is my favorite part. It’s sexy and shows a lot of skin, but paired with the mask, it gives goddess vibes that I’m 100 percent here for. I have to borrow a pair of gold strappy heels from Sam—the girl with the endless shoe collection—but they really pull the whole thing together. And, of course, I have my necklace. I never took it off, actually.

Grabbing a long jacket out of my closet, I head over to Obscura in an Uber. It takes practically a decade to get there. Even on a week day, at eight o’clock at night, there’s a fuck-ton of traffic going through LA. When I finally arrive, I say goodbye to my Uber driver and head into the club.

I’m stopped just inside the entrance by Ms. Lawrence. “Fawn,” she says with a smile. “We weren’t expecting you tonight. Can I ask one of the waitresses to get you a drink?”

Lord. Did Hart tell her to manage me if I showed up?

Regardless of my suspicions, I plaster a smile on my face. “I’m not really here to socialize. I’m here to see Hart.”

Her beautifully shaped lips turn downward, into a frown. “He isn’t here tonight. In fact, we haven’t had the pleasure of hosting him since Friday.”

I frown, realizing that was the night he stormed off to talk to Willow, leaving me naked on the bed.

I push out a breath, disappointed. I’ve come all this way to see him, sure that he would be here. “Do you know how I can reach him?”

“Why not come in and have a drink? I’ll see what I can do.”

I nod and, as always, turn my phone in at the check room, straighten my mask, and make my way down to the bar. This isn’t such a bad idea after all. The last two times I wandered the rooms of Obscura on my own recognizance, he materialized out of nowhere to dictate to me that I shouldn’t be here without him.

My heart thumps painfully as I look around, hoping for that same result tonight. I’m so confused. I honestly don’t know what we are anymore, or were to begin with, for that matter.

I’m not at the bar ten minutes, sipping my pear martini, when a young man approaches me. He hands me a note in an envelope and stands at a polite distance while I read it.

John will escort you to my penthouse. Be prompt.

The handwriting is large and blocky and doesn’t even remotely resemble the handwriting on the cards delivered to my house—I can only assume they were written by an attendant at Exeter House.

The good-looking guy wearing a simple black half-mask and tattoos snaking up his neck has been lingering nearby, awaiting my next move. John, I assume?

I nod at him, and he leads the way silently to a flight of stairs and then a door that must lead to Exeter House. He punches in a key code, and the door pops open. He guides me through the beautiful marble hallways with gold fixtures. I’ve been inside Exeter House only briefly to visit my cousin Lexi once and for Maddy’s New Year’s party earlier this year. My eyes wander over all the fine fixtures, the elegant marble and chrome. I could definitely get used to this.

After navigating several hallways and one elevator, my guide deposits me on the top floor, on an expensive-looking doorstep. I look for a penthouse number, or anything that could indicate where I am, but it’s just a glossy black door. I glance at my guide, but he just smiles and tells me to have a good evening.

Turning back to the door, I take my mask off and suck in a deep breath, trying to gather the courage to knock. Butterflies riot in my stomach, and I feel vaguely nauseous. Just as I lift my hand to knock on the door, it opens. Standing on threshold is Hart, looking fine as fuck. He has his mask on, prepared for my arrival.

He’s wearing a white button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up, exposing his forearms. The collar is unbuttoned, revealing a portion of his tattoo and the dark hair on his chest. My mouth waters just remembering what his skin tastes like under my tongue. I bit him a few days ago, and I’d give anything to sink my teeth into him again.

He holds the door open with one hand, the other hand in his pocket, but he doesn’t say anything.

I clear my throat and toy with the ribbon of my mask. “Hi…um. Can we talk?”

His gaze rakes over me slowly, taking in my risque dress and borrowed gold shoes. I shiver under the heat of his gaze. I swear I hear a deep rumble in his chest, like a feral sound of approval. But he says nothing. In fact, there’s such a long moment of inaction, I wonder if he’s going to turn me away. I’m about to say “never mind” and walk away, when he opens the door wider. “Come in.”

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