Page 22 of Scarred Sacrifice
“It’s Miss Fox. Valentina Fox,” I state coldly.
“Well, Valentina…” he starts.
“Miss Fox,” I correct him sharply.
His brow arches at my correction. Cleary he’s not used to being corrected. “Miss Fox,” he states. “My apologies. I am in no business. I am of old money.” I don’t respond. Now I think he’s an entitled asshole. “So, Miss Fox, you will have to enlighten me. What is your business?” he counters.
“She’s made millions selling dildos,” Edna blurts out. I want to glare at her, but instead I remain my blasé self, as if I didn’t hear or care what she said.
A surprised chuckle escapes him before his eyes roam over me. “Interesting business to be in,” he states.
Why is it when men hear you sell sex toys, they think they can eye fuck you? Like it gives them a right. Sure, I may have had an appreciative glance when he entered, but it wasn’t sleazy. Well, okay, maybe it was a little sleazy. In fact, I’d say it was delicately sleazy.
He, on the other hand, is clearly just another arrogant rich prick. I am here to do one thing, and one thing only, and that is to get the information needed to help those girls. For all I know Mr. Come-to-bed-with-me eyes-and-sit-on-my-face-lips is a part of it. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if all the men here are a part of it.
I straighten my back and fix my cold gaze. “What Edna has failed to say is I have a specialist business,” I state.
He leans on his elbow, running the pad of his thumb across his bottom lip. His assistant silently approaches and places his drink on the table beside him before skulking away. Again, he doesn’t say thank you. He just simply picks up his glass and takes a sip. Prick.
“So, Mr. O’Conner, please tell me what brings you to this year’s event?” Edna asks.
He turns his attention to her. “Boredom.” He shrugs. “I had some free time, so I figured why not.”
I roll my eyes. The poor man has too much time and money. Such a hard life he must lead. I ignore him and turn to Edna. “So, what are we to expect this weekend? The invite was very vague,” I ask.
“Usually, we have a variation of games or most, which usually include a little gambling. I like it when I can have a little flutter, but I don’t think he has a full racetrack here.” She sighs.
“He had a full racetrack?” I blurt out before I can hide my shock.
“Yes, only a basic one. So don’t get too excited.” She waves me off, misreading my shocked expression.
“Just a basic one. Pfft. What a loser,” I state sarcastically while rolling my eyes.
Edna throws her head back and laughs, elbowing me with her bony elbow. “Such sass! I like it.” I clink my glass with hers, but as I go to take a sip, I notice it’s empty.
I turn and look around for a server with more champagne, but sadly don’t spot one. Before I can call Penny over, Nyx obnoxiously clicks his fingers and his assistant comes running. “More champagne for Miss Fox,” he demands.
I frown. “I am quite capable of asking for my own drink.”
“Didn’t look like it,” he quips.
I would love nothing more than to slap him upside the head. Fucking smartass. I keep my gaze fixed on his and raise my hand slightly, clicking my fingers. As if it’s the national call for assistants, Penny scurries over. Huh, clearly it is.
“Penny, please can you inform Mr. O’Connors assistant that I no longer require champagne, and could you please bring me two fingers of whiskey on ice,” I order. “Thank you.”
“Right away, Miss Fox,” Penny states before disappearing.
Mr. O’Connor picks up his glass and takes a sip, his eyes fixed on mine. Both of us are stubborn as the other refuses to look away. “I wouldn’t have you down as a whiskey drinker,” he comments.
“There are many things you don’t know about me, Mr. O’Connor,” I retort.
His lips twitch with a faint smile and his lips part as if to say something, but the high-pitch squeal of a mic interrupts him. We all look over to see Henry Sparks stood in front of a microphone, tapping it with his finger.
“Testing, one, two,” he jokes. “Friends, colleagues, and newcomers,” he says, looking to me when he says newcomers. I force a smile at him and raise my empty glass, hating the attention he is throwing my way. I never did ask what happened to Henry’s wife. Surely Isabella wasn’t spawned in a lab. “I am grateful to all of you for coming out here and joining me. There are some fun things planned that will raise a lot of money for my charity. Your money will help those in the poorest communities, offering private tuition to their children.”
The hairs on the back of my neck prickle. That’s how he’s taking so many. He’s hitting the desperate, offering them a life, money, and opportunities. Is that what he’s telling the families? That he’s sending the girls to a private school? Is that why there aren’t a hundred of missing persons reports? Shit, I feel sick to my stomach.
“Now, I won’t ramble on, but I will say I expect you all to dig deep, give generously, and after all, it’s a tax break.” He chuckles. People laugh and cheer, raising their glasses in a toast to that. “Now, let’s eat, drink, and relax,” Henry cheers, and with that the doors open and a swarm of staff enter, carrying plates of food. They all stand around our tables, pausing until they are all in their correct spot before placing the plates down for everyone at exactly the same time with military precision.
