Page 46 of The Kiss of Deception

A tug on my hand disrupts my thoughts as Miles leads me further into the den of the blues. With every step, the smell of the shift is stronger in the air.

There are stares and side-glances. The suspicion and the scrutiny are scorching fire as the many pairs of eyes search every inch of me as though they’ll find the red cross that marks me as the master spy plotting to bring their club down.

I hold my chin up with the blank look drilled into my face from a young age, feeling a twisted thrill as I walk in like the hot villain who’d snatched their Prince Charming.

Mother knows best indeed.

I huff a laugh, scolding and shaking away the ridiculousness of my train of thought.

“What?” Miles stopped to look down at me.

“Just remembering this time I was told I looked like Mother Gothel.” He tips his head, concern giving place to contemplation, as he seeks the character in me. “I was a little traumatized back then, but I think I might’ve grown to like the edge of being the hot villain.”

“Yeah, the hot villain suits you.” A heated glance, fleeting. “What am I?”

I don’t hesitate.

“The side character who thinks he’s so funny but is not.”

“That’s what makes him funny. So, all in all, one could argue he is funny,” he argues, before catching himself and redirecting the argument. “Wait, no. That’s not me, though. I’m the Prince. I certainly look like the Prince.”

I make my eyes heavy to drag over him, much like he had. He doesn’t squirm under their weight, instead seeming to feed off it.

“Am I sensing some animosity here? Aren’t they usually fan favorites?” I step into his space to speak lower. With the height difference, I have to tilt my face up to talk to his dark grays. “I know the funny side characters are always the ones I like the most.”

“And so, I finally have the pleasure of meeting the elusive journalist who captured the heart and good sense of my favorite client.” The intruder’s voice pulls me back a couple staggered steps, Miles’s hand still clasped in mine, steadying me. With a discreet tug, he drags me back into his orbit.

Intrigued at his sudden protectiveness, I shift my focus to a face that tickles recognition. The man is considerably shorter than Miles, smaller too. His slender limbs swim in an indigo suit that matches the color palette of our surroundings. Harry Potter frames round blue irises, cold and assessing, unlike Bass, gauging all my shortcomings and weak spots.

“I can see why he kept you a secret for so long.” And that seals my inner debate on whether to be a hater or not bother.

“It has never been a secret how I felt about Zoe.”

“Charles Cox.” Miles’ agent, I remember now, doesn’t bother with further greetings. I’m glad.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”

His eyes shrink to slits. “Excuse me?”

Miles’s body shifts one almost imperceptible step, as though he isn’t aware he’s shielding me. I, on the other hand, am well aware of the steps I take to meet those blue slits.

“It’s nice to meet you, I said. Very nice things I’ve heard about you, Mr. Cox.” I urge angelic innocence into the tilt of my lips. “Charlie.”

His cold blues are loud in all the ways his voice can’t be. “If you’ll excuse us for a moment.”

Without further notice, he walks away with the arrogance that he’ll be followed.

Fuck him very much, but also, good riddance.

In the wake of passive aggressiveness, I search Miles’s features for any traces of reticence. I’d jump in with an excuse to extricate him from the one-on-one with his agent. He does the same, reading me for any clues that I’ll be uncomfortable on my own.

I give him a nod, unlocking our hands at last, surprised at how natural they felt together—like they fit.

I’m not eager to explore the den of vipers alone, but the last thing I’ll do is ask Miles to hold my hand all night.

“It’ll be just two minutes. Try not to miss me.” He drags the knuckles I freed over my cheekbone.

I huff a laugh. “Such an arduous challenge.”

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