Page 123 of One Big Little Secret

I rip my leg away and tilt closer to Patton.

No flipping thank you!

We make polite conversation and not even ten minutes in, I see Patton’s point.

These people aren’t geniuses or business gods or money magicians.

They’re human. Conflicted people who, despite their enormous wealth and success, are just as flawed and corrupt as the rest of us.

And if they can stack up big money with their demons and a few connections, why can’t I do the same with some elbow grease?

“Miss Hopper,” Divorced Dude says again, leaning forward. I’ve already forgotten his name. Sweat gleams on his forehead and I look away. “I recommend the Hokkaido scallops. They’re impeccable here. The sensation on the tongue—vanishingly few things can ever compare.”

Yuck. And I don’t mean the scallops.

Usually, I would give him a tight smile and ignore him the rest of the night. But tonight, it’s different.

Tonight, I’m on the arm of Patton Rory, self-made hotshot from a family that rubbed shoulders with presidents. I don’t need to shrink down and hide.

“Scallops, huh? Sounds a little boring with this menu. I had my eye on the coq au vin.”

I toss my hair over my shoulder and look at him through my eyelashes for a few seconds too long. Just so he starts to sweat harder.

Then I smile until his face sags like a flattened tire.

Man, for such powerful men with mammoth egos, it sure feels easy to twist their balls.

“And what was your name again? I’m terrible with names. Sorry, I can’t remember if we met this morning—or maybe I just met your date.”

He clears his throat loudly.

“Joseph Richardson. No date. Not yet, anyway.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes as he mutters, “You’re Patton Rory’s fling, I know that much. Didn’t realize he liked them so mouthy.”

Ohhhh.

It’s hard to keep the plastic smile pinned on my face. Harder not to sidekick him square in the shin under the table.

So I just tap Patton’s arm pointedly, pulling his attention away from another man on his opposite side.

“Babe, did you hear that?” My voice is artificially light—brittle, like it could shatter at a moment’s touch. “Mr. Richardson called me your mouthyfling.”

“Did he?” There’s no mistaking the ice in Patton’s voice—or the possessive way he leans over the back of my chair. “Why would he do that? Joe, are you drunk already? How many have youhad? I haven’t even seen a single gal here from east of London.”

“My mistake.” Joseph’s face turns an unflattering shade of red as he huffs again, still too loud. “Fucking smart-ass.”

“Sure was,” Patton agrees and hands me my menu. “What are you feeling tonight, Lady Bug?”

I’m high as a kite on adrenaline.

This whole thing might be for show, but it doesn’t matter.

We talk about the menu and I’ve almost decided on going French, but then he points out a local option I can’t resist.

I pick the guajillo seared pork with roasted green chili. Patton opts for a wagyu filet mignon with a creamy lemon risotto. Then the lesson really begins.

It’s a masterclass in the art of negotiation.

Patton shows me off withoutseemingto show me off. He talks up Higher Ends’ success without boasting.

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