Page 30 of The Perfect Deception

The way her cheeks flush is so uncharacteristic that it sends another wave of warmth swelling in my chest—one I refuse to acknowledge. Instead, I spin her back toward the cameras, placing my hand on her lower back to guide her inside, where all the beautiful and important people in the city have gathered to pat each other on the back for their beauty, wealth, and creativity.

I hate these events, and I know Frankie isn’t impressed by the celebrity and wealth of it all. What she enjoys is the way I’m romancing her, and that makes it all worth it.

Simply put, my plan is working. It’s working better than I expected because she loves me. She said the words herself and even though she hasn’t said them again, I can see it now. I see it so fucking clear in the way she looks at me, the small affectionate touches when we’re working side by side in the penthouse, the way she hands her erotic pleasure over to me completely.

She hasn’t said the words again, but I hear them all the same.

That’s how I know the plan is working to perfection. Things are all falling into place the way they should. Olivia is making progress. There are almost no leads on the string of murders except one that’s unlikely to pan out.

Knowing all of that doesn’t stop the urges, though. I’m ready to strike another name off The List. Ready to satisfy my need for vengeance.

Tonight.

I sit next to Francesca,pretending to give a shit about the awards show as a beautiful woman in a designer dress takes the stage to accept her award. She beams, thanking every person in the room, but my focus is elsewhere. The applause fades into the background as my mind races.

All I can think about is the thrill that’s coming. This night is just another step toward what I want, and soon, another name will be crossed off.

I’m bored out of my fucking mind and if not for the way Frankie’s hand stays in mine, running her thumb along the inside of my palm absently, as if touching me is just second nature to her, I might have got up and left. But I remain where I am until they give out every damn award and we can finally leave our seats.

And mingle.

Fucking mingle.

“We can go,” she whispers as soon as we make our way through the crush of people.

I look at her and I can see she’s being honest. Francesca isn’t into manipulation tactics, and this isn’t a guilt trip. That’s why I stay. At least that’s what I tell myself as I pull her close and wrap an arm around her slender waist.

“Soon. I have a few people I want you to meet.” It’s not true, of course, and it has nothing at all to do with Frankie. She’s great. Wonderful. Beautiful and intelligent and dedicated to her career. But the people I introduce her to? I don’t give a fuck about them. Sure, some of them I respect as businessmen or scientists or negotiators, but we’re not friends.

I’m working on my alibi.

“Damien, good to see you.” Tripp Stevens flashes his billion-dollar smile and shakes my hand.

“Tripp, congratulations on another successful year.” He’s a Hollywood heartthrob turned award-winning director. “This is the lovely detective, Francesca DeMarco.”

His blue eyes flash wide, a surefire sign of surprise, before turning to Frankie. “Great name. How’d you meet Damien?”

She smiles politely, but I don’t see any stars in her eyes. “He spilled coffee on me while I was investigating a murder.”

Tripp laughs, his gaze full of amusement when he turns to me. “I can see why he’d be flustered by you. Strong, beautiful and accomplished. Sounds like the next script I need to write.” Something flashes in his eyes. “You’re the detective investigating the Butcher of Beverly Hills?”

She groans, nodding reluctantly. “I’m hunting the serial killer terrorizing the city, yes. Nicknames are for movies.”

I feel nothing but pride at her words, both as her lover as well as the man she’s hunting. I keep her close to me while she and Tripp talk a little longer before he moves on. “No autograph?”

She laughs. “I’m not the autograph kind of girl, but it was nice talking to him. He’s more grounded than I expected.”

I press a kiss to her temple. “Remember that because Iris and Steff Moreland are less grounded than anybody. Ever.”

She laughs, but it quickly fades as the former pop starlet and her studio executive wife approach.

“Oh wow, a real-life lady cop,” Steff says, her voice dripping with enthusiasm, her smile all teeth and charm.

“Oh, please,” Iris chimes in. “I’m a lady executive.”

“Yeah, but your job is mostly talking tough, right? She’s out there chasing killers and rapists. That’s a tough job, like arealtough job.”

Frankie stiffens beside me, but I keep my tone light. “I don’t know, I think being successful as a woman inanyfield is tough.And the higher you go, the tougher it gets, you know? There’s a lot to manage.”

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