Page 59 of Sixth Sin

“Lucky me.” I sigh, my shoulders sagging.

Placing my half-empty flute on a passing food tray, she hardens a stare at me, “Alexandra, I feel as your PR director, it’s my job to remind you how paramount this party is in restoring the Romanov name. Your parents came to this country to make that name mean something. Not only did they do that, but they made it a household name.”

“Why do I feel a ‘but’ coming?”

She doesn’t acknowledge me, instead taking a firm hold of my elbow and leading me toward the main parlor. “But I also feel it’s also important to remind you the very people you keep rolling your eyes at can make or break your career, not to mention your reputation. The tabloids don’t have to dig very far to come up with a handful of dirt on you and Dominic McCallum.”

Shit!

“I don’t know what you mean.” God that sounds weak.

“Don’t play dumb,” Michaela bites out through a practiced smile. “I’m not in the mood.”

I scrape my palm across my forehead. “What did you need Michaela?”

She casts a quick glance at the boisterous party. “There are a lot of producers here vying for your attention. And when I say a lot, I mean every single president of every single studio that matters. You can’t keep ignoring them, Alexandra. If you hope to have a film career, this is your chance. Don’t screw it up.”

“You’re right. Just give me a few minutes, and then I’m on it.” She lifts a sharp eyebrow, and I groan, “I promise.”

“Good.” Nodding, she starts to walk away, then stops, her gaze snapping back as a waiter strolls by. “And no more champagne.”

True to my word, I play my part. I put on the perfect show, seeking out and networking with producers and studio execs from Ravengate, MillenniumWorks, hell even the assholes at Optimax who were involved in Paulo Bellini’s fiasco. By the time I finish stroking everyone’s egos, I need more than a glass of champagne. I need a good shot of whiskey.

Whiskey.

Another reminder Dominic still hasn’t shown his face. Of course, I’ve spent the last hour under the lecherous watch of the men who all but own this industry, so he very well could have snuck in when my back was turned. Maybe he’s in one of the other rooms.

Maintaining an artificial smile, I cross the main ballroom at a speed unwise for a woman in six-inch stilettos. I’m racing around, determined to search every inch of this godforsaken house when once again, I crash into another guest in another tuxedo.

Jesus, have I not met a quota tonight, or something?

“Shit!” I blurt out as his hand steadies my arm. Then Michaela’s warning rings in my ear about being elegant and refined, so I rush a hurried, “I mean, my apologies. I didn’t see you there.”

There’s a low chuckle as he moves his hand from my arm to my chin, holding it between his fingers. “No need for apologies, my sweet. I make it my life’s work to rescue damsels in distress.”

As if pulled by a string, my chin lifts and I meet his stare. “Greg Rosten.”

“Ah, my reputation precedes me.”

I jerk my chin away, Milly’s confession causing me to fling out hostility like a dart. “Yes, just not the one you’re proud of.”

I expect outrage, or at the very least a returned insult. Instead, he laughs as if my pain has somehow amused him. “You’re a firecracker, Alexandra. I like that. I can appreciate a woman with bite.” He leans in close, his voice dropping to barely a whisper. “It’s so much more satisfying when you bring them to heel.”

What a disgusting pig. I have an agenda, but I’m not sure it’s worth spending another minute in his presence.

I’m about to make my exit when he holds out a hand. “I believe I’m the only executive here who hasn’t had the pleasure of a dance.”

Fuck.

Channeling Michaela, I grit my teeth and take his hand. “You’ll have to forgive me, I’m a little rusty at ballroom dancing.”

And by ‘a little rusty’ I mean clueless.

“That’s not a problem,” he says. Placing my other hand on his shoulder, he slips his around my back. “Just follow my lead.”

I bite my tongue as he leads me in a classic Viennese Waltz, constantly turning with confusing change of steps that cause my feet to tangle more than once. “Enjoying yourself tonight, Mr. Rosten?”

“It’s Greg, and of course. I’ve always been partial to the Romanovs. I have fond memories of them. Silverline gave your mother her big break, and Nicholas was our most profitable leading man until he took a more directorial role.”

---