Page 8 of The Kiss that Captured a Billionaire
“Ma’am,” Rhys greeted with a slightly crooked smile.
Before she could get another word in, Clarissa perked up like a cat spotting a laser dot.
“Hi there, handsome. I’m Clarissa,” she purred, conveniently forgetting Rod—who was too busy draining his glass to notice his girlfriend was practically drooling over another man.
Or maybe that turns them both on,Rose thought, shuddering at the sudden vision of Clarissa sandwiched between two men. She was going to need bleach for her brain to erase that image.
Rhys was saying something, but Rose was distracted by the shadowed man with the tailored lines and a gaze that burned hotter than the lights overhead. She gritted her teeth and squared her shoulders, sending a silent flare of defiance.
Her mind was already composing a new refusal when Clarissa squealed, gathered her handbag like she’d been personally invited to walk a Milan runway, and beamed at Rhys.
“Come on!” Clarissa said, bouncing in place. “We’ve been invited to the VIP lounge! I knew this night wasn’t going to be a total waste.”
Clarissa’s gaze flash-burned Rod at the stake before she turned a smile so fake it could qualify as plastic on Rose. It was as if Clarissa thought she was bestowing a royal favor by allowing Rose to tag along.
Rose blinked. “We… wait… what’s going on?”
“Mr. Kallistratos has extended the invitation again to join him in the VIP lounge—along with your friends,” Rhys repeated, ignoring Clarissa’s not-so-subtle excitement.
“Yes! Let’s go!” Clarissa trilled. “This is major. You don’t just get invited up there unless you’re rich, famous, or incredibly lucky. Nobody normal gets in.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t. I was just leaving,” Rose replied. “Congratulations on ascending to Olympus. I’m sure Kerry will love to hear about it at work.”
And try not to trip over your ego on the way up,she added silently.
“I’m afraid the invitation is only if you also attend,” Rhys said with an apologetic smile.
Rose looked at Rhys in disbelief before her eyes flicked upward again. Her teeth ached as the VIP god above lifted his glass—just enough to be smug. She didn’t have a clear view of his face thanks to the tinted glass, but she could almost feel his arrogant gaze burning a hole through it.
That’s the Devil, Rose. And you gave him the middle finger. What did you expect?
Clarissa’s eyes narrowed as she leaned in close and hissed in her ear, “You are not bailing. I won’t let you sabotage this for me. If you don’t go, the invitation’s revoked. If it gets revoked, Kerry is going to hear about this!”
Rose hesitated, not wanting Clarissa to make Kerry’s life a living hell, but she also wasn’t going down without a fight, so she was opening her mouth to say she absolutely didn’t give a damn about Clarissa’s dream of rubbing elbows with the elite—whenshe spotted Clifford, aka Wandering Hands McGee, heading her way with two drinks and the confidence only found in frat boys and failed magician acts.
Damn it. No time.
With a twist of her lips that didn’t even attempt to resemble a smile, she turned back to Rhys.
“Very well.” She lifted her water glass like a war banner. “Lead the way, Sir Rhys.”
Clarissa squealed again, oblivious to the barely restrained murder in Rose’s expression, and tossed her hair, ignoring Rod who was already two sheets to the wind.
As they moved through the crowd, Rose followed with measured steps, fire flickering in her eyes.
So… Mr. Kallistratos wants my company?
Fine.
He wants a rose? Let’s see how he handles the thorns.
She was a master of barbs disguised as banter, at sweet smiles hiding sharp teeth.
If he thought she was just another pretty flower at the club, ripe for the picking, he was about to learn the difference between a florist’s bouquet and a wild thing grown with wind and grit.
Let him come close.
Let him reach.
