Page 14 of Promiscuous Lies

“Thank you. I didn’t think I’d come, but here I am,” I say triumphantly as I notice Dutton speaking with one of the security guards; however, he’s staring at me. I take a sip of the drink and focus back on Mike as he complains.

“You never come out when I ask; it hurts my feelings,” he says, brushing my shoulder with his playfully.

I laugh. “You know I don’t go out. Ever. It’s too expensive, and I’d rather be in my PJs at home.”

He rolls his eyes. “You sound like a woman in her fifties, not a twenty-four-year-old.”

“Hey!” Paula interjects. “There’s nothing wrong with being in your fifties.”

Mike lays his hands over his heart dramatically. “But, madam, you don’t look a day over thirty. I never knew.”

“Smartass.” She smirks, and takes a mouthful of her drink. I follow her lead and sip from my own. It tastes festive and decadent but too sweet for my liking. However, the buzz it offers me isn’t all that bad.

Paula excuses herself from our conversation to start the games.

Mike cozies in as we watch Samantha drunkenly grind on the pole with two of the other girls. We’re laughing as one of them stumbles. They’re having the best time, and it’s moments like this that remind me I’m only in my mid-twenties. I imagine this is what a lot of women around my age are doing—going out and having fun. I can’t remember the last time I had fun. Well, at least like this.

“How come you don’t go out now and then? You’re hot as shit,” Mike says as he places his empty flute behind me. I swallow the rest of mine and set my glass next to his.

I shrug. “My money can go elsewhere. I don’t want to jeopardize my financial security. It just doesn’t seem worth it.”

Mike leans against the counter. “You never really told me much about your family. Do you not have any here?”

I don’t remove my gaze from the girls. I don’t like sharing much about myself. I overshared on the night I met Paula in the hospital, but it was to my benefit, I suppose, since she offered me a job. But that doesn’t mean anyone else needs to know more about me; keeping everyone at a distance is better.

“Nope, just me and Bentley,” I tell him.

“Bentley?” a voice cuts in, and Mike and I both jump. Dutton is standing behind us, holding two glasses of champagne. He offers me one and then holds the other out to Mike, who takes it with a nervous smile. “You don’t wear a ring, so I didn’t think you were married.”

“I’m not,” I reply flatly as I raise the glass to my lips and turn my back to him to watch the girls again. He stands beside me, unfazed by my obvious want to shut the conversation down. I don’t like people prying into my personal life.

“So, who is Bentley?” he pushes.

“How about you tell me about the last woman you fucked, and then I can decide if I want to share that information with you.”

Mike chokes, half his mouthful dribbling back into the glass. “Don’t mind me,” he wheezes.

“I don’t usually share that information, but since you asked so nicely…” Dutton turns to Mike. “Care to give us a minute?”

Mike nods hastily, as if appreciative of being excused, then walks off, still coughing. I internally sigh. I’d much rather spend my evening with Mike than with Frosty the Snowman over here. Yet, I’d be lying if I said there isn’t a small part of me that’s curious. What kind of woman is my cold-hearted boss into?

I cross my arms over my chest, trying to shake off the cold intensity of this man when his undivided attention is on me. It’s unnerving.

“Why do you look like you want to run?” he asks.

“I Googled you,” I tell him, gripping my glass. He raises a brow. All sorts of wild speculation came up in my search. Him being involved with the mafia. Associates he’s had that have simply vanished—the type of wealthy family with parents who’ve been able to provide him with absolutely everything.

I know his type.

Dangerous.

Cunning.

Often with a God complex.

And that matches the description of this asshole, without a doubt.

“You did?” he purrs, and for some reason he sounds satisfied.

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