Page 59 of Audacity

‘Thad and I went sailing in the BVIs for a week after Christmas,’ she confesses. ‘I was topless or nude on the yacht most of the time. He likes me tanned.’

‘I bet he does,’ I murmur, giving her exposed décolletage a once-over. Her golden tits are nestled like puppies into the low V of her gorgeous red silk dress. I’m not really into women, but Soph and I have fooled around once. During my brief stint with Anton Wolff, Karavitis invited him onto his yacht when it was moored in Montenegro. Let’s just say the two tycoons put their heads together and decided upon watching me and her get each other off with vibrators before they got in on the action.

I can confirm that Karavitis is an excellent poster boy for Viagra.

I can also confirm that Sophia’s puppies feel as fantastic as they look.

In theology, Seraphim are the order of angels closest to God’s throne. The name Seraph, therefore, is fitting in more ways than one. Not only do our combinations of fierce intellects and ethereal polish merit it, but our positions afford us that same proximity to myriad seats of power across Europe and the US.

Icarus showed us that those who fly too high can get burnt, so Soph’s definition of these meet-ups asessential self-careis on point. Fuck knows, it can be intimidating, exhausting, managing these titans of industry, these entitled men-children who aren’t used to being toldnoand who expect it all.

Our NDAs purposely extend to individuals outside the Seraph organisation only. Camille structured them so thatwe could share details of our work within the group on a confidential basis. Our positions in our respective firms are necessarily isolated and overly focused on one person. The Seraph sisterhood provides a safe place, a support network, a sense of belonging. There’s no rivalry, only camaraderie.

In a society that would shame us for our career choices while bleeding out with envy at our bank balances, we have this group of likeminded women to cheerlead and commiserate, to share seduction hacks and horror stories alike. No one fluffs each other up like Seraphim. We even have an online chat devoted solely to swapping tips for our investment portfolios, because the Seraphim are raking it in.

When we’re all sitting in a black and gold alcove with a shot glass and champagne flute apiece and a bottle of Clase Azul sitting pretty in the middle of our table, Camille raises her flute with her trademark poise.

‘To the Seraphim: may you rise ever higher... and take our clients with you to heaven.’

‘To the Seraphim,’ we all chorus, flutes held aloft.

‘To the angels who guard the gates of power,’ Sophia offers.

‘To celestial bodies and earthly pleasures,’ I counter, and she snorts.

‘To vertical integration and horizontal negotiations,’ quips our friend Bree, a gorgeous Black woman with a Stanford MBA and a body that’s frankly ridiculous.

The rest of us laugh, and Camille’s mouth twists in amusement. ‘To burning bright and keeping secrets.’

‘Amen to that,’ I say firmly, and Bree’s head whips around. She doesn’t miss a trick.

‘Oh look! The hot priest has converted her already! That’s so sweet. Christianity is a good look on you, honey. Do you guys pray together, too?’

I roll my eyes to conceal the fact that a memory is searing itself onto my brain.

Gabe’s clothed body wrapped around my naked one, pumping me from behind as he recited The Book of Psalms in a way that was conflicted and filthy all at once.

‘I only know one way to pray,’ I retort, ‘and it always ends in a celestial moment. For everyone involved.’

‘But it’s going well?’ Camille asks, her face serious now. ‘I have to say, of all the guys who walk through our doors, he seemed like one of the most thoroughly decent.’

The girls are watching me like hawks. I need to be careful here.

‘It’s going really well,’ I tell Camille briskly. ‘He’s a lovely guy, like you say, and the company is fascinating. There’s so much to sink my teeth into.’

‘I bet there is, you horny little slut,’ Soph mutters beside me, and I turn and glare at her.

‘I meant overhauling their charitable efforts and building a proper foundation, airhead.’

‘I’m looking him up,’ Maya, another Seraph, declares, bending her head over her phone. ‘What’s his name again?’

‘Gabriel Sullivan,’ Camille supplies unhelpfully. She shoots me another of her enigmatic smiles. ‘He really isveryattractive. And you know he came in and asked for Athena specifically.’

‘What can I say?’ I pretend to admire my glossy maroon nails. ‘My reputation precedes me.’

‘Well, if he wanted to be well and truly corrupted, he went for the right Seraph,’ Maya muses, then sits up straight. ‘Holy shit! He’s fuckinggorgeous!’

She turns the phone around, and fuck. It’s that photo of Gabe in his dog collar—the one I found so arresting during my initial Google search. The one where he’s ramrod straight and unsmiling and bathed in rainbow light diffused through hisstain-glassed windows. Glancing at it now, having fucked him several times, knowing how hooded those astonishing eyes go right before he comes, knowing the sounds of disbelief and awe he makes when he first pushes inside me each time… it’s a whole other level of affecting.

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