Page 2 of Savage Suit
“You’re right, sir,” she said, breaking away from him to return to my side. She grabbed the bottle of champagne, then dragged me to where he stood waiting.
“Nothing too strong,” she ordered, handing him the bottle. “Just something to relax her after her long day.”
“She can join us.”
“That’ll be the day,” Quinn said with a hearty laugh. “She doesn’t have my joie de vivre.”
“Then I’m lucky to have you.”
“That you are, sir,” she said merrily, grabbing my hand again and urging me forward. “That you are.”
She held onto me as he led us down a long hallway that opened onto a central foyer with a grand staircase. His foot touched the first stair.
Quinn clutched my shoulders. “Up,” she said. “And be careful. If you fall backward, I’m tumbling down too.”
The mysterious man took my hand before continuing. His hand, big and warm, held me as tightly as Quinn gripped my shoulders. He placed his hands on my waist at the landing, lifted me, and plopped me beside him.
“Good thinking. She might’ve tripped on that last stair.”
I ignored Quinn’s comment and squinted at the massive chandelier centering the ceiling. Had I not imbibed so heartily, I would’ve enjoyed the mansion, styled after a Venetian palazzo, with soaring ceilings, an intricate balustrade, heavy doors marching down the center hallway, and too many other exquisite details to count.
He handed the champagne bottle back to Quinn. In turn, she held it out to me. “Drink,” she commanded for the hundredth time tonight.
“You aren’t supposed to drink when you’re sad,” I protested blearily. “It makes you more depressed.”
“Are you depressed?” she asked in exasperation.
“Nope. But it’s the principal.”
“Fuck principals. They get you nowhere.” Her voice had hardened, and hearing the tone upset me even in my drunken state. “You love champagne. You have the chance to drink an excellent vintage. Stop worrying about everything and everyone, and live a little, damn it.”
“I won’t be alive if I starve to death because I can’t afford to buy food.”
Quinn growled, then pressed the rim to my lips and tipped the bottle, forcing me to drink. “You’re not going to starve,” she snapped, not relenting with the flow of liquid. “You just lost your fucking job today. And you know what? I’m so fucking happy you did. You had a birthday three months ago.” She snatched the now-empty bottle away. “Did you celebrate? Nope. Why? Because you were working.” She spat the word as if it was the dirtiest sound in the English language. “You worked in high school. You worked in college. You work all the fucking time!”
Ordinarily, her snideness might’ve offended me. Instead, that last taste of champagne left me giddy and removed whatever fucks left to give. I could’ve stripped off my mask and gown and run naked through the house.
“Hey?” Quinn snapped her fingers in front of my face. “What’s wrong with you, dude?”
The question struck me as funny, and I guffawed.
“She’ll be fine. She might find a walk on the wild side,” the musketeer said.
“Ryan?” Quinn snorted in amusement. “A walk on the wild side?”
“I can be wild when I want to!” I protested, wondering why her calling my name bothered me. I couldn’t remember, but it felt good not to have worries weighing me down.
“We’ll collect her when we’re done.”
Wrinkling her brow, Quinn studied me.
“I’m fine,” I said in a sing-song voice because I hadn’t felt so free and unencumbered in…well, I didn’t know how long, but it felt like forever.
“Okay, then.” Once again, Quinn tugged me forward. “Let the debauchery commence.”
I didn’t need fucking enemies when I had brothers.
Somewhere downstairs, my youngest sibling, Nathaniel, roamed in search of his next fuck, unconcerned today would’ve been our mother’s 60th birthday. While I had my share of complaints against Nate, our middle brother, Nicholas, cared even less. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have opened his home to this travesty. Despite my protests, he’d planned this masquerade ball at his wife’s behest to celebrate her 30th birthday.
