Page 71 of Wilde and Deadly

Then, smoothly—almost too smoothly—he let out a low chuckle. “Yes, I imagine so.” He took another sip of his champagne, his movements measured now, more deliberate. “She’s fascinating, isn’t she? The way she moves, the way she thinks… It’s no wonder someone like you took an interest.”

Davey let the words sit for a second, weighing them like a potential sacrifice.

That “someone like him” was not complimentary.

It was a calculated maneuver. A probe. Another attempt to test the board.

He let his smile sharpen at the edges. “Flattering, the way you’re so invested in my personal life.”

Polite. Crisp. Empty of anything real, forcing Frost to decide whether to press or pivot.

Frost pivoted. His gaze flicked toward the bathroom doors before settling back on Davey. A new move. A shift in strategy.

“I must admit, I didn’t expect to find both Bristow sisters here tonight.”

A lie. A feint.

He’d expected Rowan to be here. That was probably why he’d invited Rue. Davey had seen the flicker of satisfaction, the way Frost’s smirk deepened when he spotted her in the crowd.

At that moment, he’d seen the whole board laid out before him.

A perfect path to checkmate.

But then he’d spotted Davey.

And the game changed.

That was why Frost kept pressing for a reaction. He was trying to map out the new terrain, trying to see what Davey’s presence meant for his strategy.

But Davey refused to give him anything. “Didn’t expect to find Rue on your arm, either.”

Frost let out a small, satisfied hum, as if a pawn had moved right where he wanted it. “Did that surprise you?”

Davey exhaled slowly. This game was exhausting—he much preferred men like Sabin or Dom, who spoke exactly what was on their mind. But rushing the next move would give Frost the advantage. Play it clean, careful. “Just didn’t think she’s your speed.”

Frost’s next move was immediate. A knight sliding into position.

“I’ve always had a taste for fast things—cars, deals, women.” He sipped his drink, watching over the rim, waiting to see if the play had forced a mistake. “And I have an eye for potential. Your Miss Bristow? She’s full of it.”

And, fuck if that move didn’t land. Just a little.

A crack in the defense.

Disgust curled through Davey’s gut, and for the first time, his mask of polite indifference slipped. He hated the way Frost said, “Your Miss Bristow.” Hated the slick, possessiveness of his voice, the way he spoke about Rue like she was something to be traded.

Like she was an asset. A commodity. A well-placed pawn on the board.

Davey forced his expression back into neutrality, but his jaw was still clenched, and his next words came out too tight. “Is that what this is? A patronage?”

Frost sighed as if genuinely regretful. “You wound me, Wilde. You act as if I’m something sinister, when, really, all I do is provide opportunities for people with potential.”

“Yeah, you’re a real humanitarian.”

A waiter approached, moving with easy grace, the silver tray of fresh champagne balanced effortlessly in one hand.

Sabin.

He must have sensed the tension.

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