Page 6 of Bishop

I raise a brow at the nicknames, acting coy despite the unwanted niggle in my gut. They’re striving for anonymity when this is meant to be about forging connection.

Interesting.

“It’s nice to meet you both.” I flash my billion-dollar smile.

“Likewise.” Boomer rakes his gaze over me from the corner of his eye, the attention overtly lecherous before he glances away in dismissal.

Finch doesn’t acknowledge me at all.

I don’t like them already.

They lead the way into the lobby, across the gleaming chandelier-lit marble floor to the entrance of the hotel bar where we’re stopped by a bubbly hostess.

“I’m sorry. We’ve already reached capacity.” She glances behind her to the packed crowd, every table in sight bustling with rowdy drinkers while more stand in line waiting for booze.

“Are you sure you can’t fit us in?” Gordon reaches for her hand, subtly slipping her a wad of cash as he clutches her fingers in a fatherly gesture. “It’s a special night.”

The woman pauses a moment before inclining her head, obviously accustomed to bribes. She gains the attention of a male waiter who escorts us through the loudly talking patrons to a table that has miraculously become available in the back corner of the room.

Seats are taken. Drinks are ordered and delivered. Then I’m left to sit beside a salivating silver fox while his feral cubs watch us from the edge of the throng a few yards away.

“So, Abri.” Gordon takes a gulp of gin. “Your father tells me you’re an integral part of the family business. He says you’re quite—” His mouth twitches “—skilled at obtaining what you want.”

“He didn’t lie.”

Gordon chuckles, the sound barely heard over the growing noise in the room. He cradles his crystal tumbler, his other hand sitting against the table, his thumb tapping the wood in a rampant beat.

He’s excited.

Impatient.

He wants me, yet he’s too pathetic to voice his dirty fantasies.

“Tell me more about yourself.” I raise my champagne flute, pausing it an inch from my lips. “Who is Gordon Myers? Apart from an exceptionally successful businessman.”

He grins over the bare minimum compliment.

If this was about entrapment I’d already have him—hook, line and sinker. He’s putty in my hands. Pathetic, malleable clay. But tonight isn’t about extortion.

My father’s rules were strict and simple—win Gordon over. Do whatever it takes.

“I’ve had a great deal of good fortune.” He scoots his chair closer until we’re side by side, looking across the crowded bar. “And I have a feeling that’s only going to increase.”

“And what about your wife?” I blink innocently. “What about her good fortune?”

He stiffens slightly, his hand tightening against my flesh for the briefest second before he relaxes. “She is also very fortunate. And understanding of the lengths I go to in an effort to form the strongest bonds with my clients.”

“Is that what I am?” I purr. “A client? I was of the understanding this would become more of a partnership. A mutually beneficial arrangement.”

“That, too.” His palm continues its upward climb. “But we need to take baby steps, my dear.”

My dear? What a delightfully nauseating endearment for someone he’s currently trying to sleep with.

“Baby steps are for the fearful and inexperienced.” I turn into him, ignoring the inevitable nudge of his fingertips against my crotch. “I’m neither of those things. My family wants access to your shipping routes, and I’m here to convince you to give them to us.”

“And how do you plan on doing that?” His voice lowers.

“You know exactly what I have in mind.”

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