Page 71 of Dating Goals
I resist the urge to adjust my bow tie or check for a hidden gun holster. Maybe I’m taking this spy thing a bit too seriously, but hey…When in Rome. Or rather, when in a billionaire’s secret mountain lair.
I drum my fingers against the polished bar top, my eyes constantly sweeping the room for Anika. Once she gets back, I need to tell her the truth. This whole investor party story isn’t going to hold water much longer, especially if Malcolm Chasestarts acting suspicious. Anika’s smart. Too smart to keep in the dark.
She deserves to know she’s at a party crawling with spies and possible criminals. Plus, I’m betting those bartending skills of hers could come in handy. People spill all kinds of secrets to their bartenders. Something about the combination of alcohol and a sympathetic ear loosens even the tightest lips. Maybe she could work her magic on some of Malcolm’s associates while I try to get closer to the man himself.
“Your martini, sir,” the bartender says, sliding the pristine glass toward me.
I take a sip, enjoying the crisp bite of gin and vermouth. I like my beer just like any self-respecting Canadian, but I’d like to think I have a refined palate when the occasion calls for it. And tonight, playing spy in a designer tux, definitely calls for it. There’s something satisfying about sipping a fancy drink in a fancy place wearing a fancy suit. Makes me feel sophisticated, like I belong among these high rollers instead of just being the guy who makes them all rich by winning hockey games.
“You look like a man with secrets.”
The voice is like warm honey, accent vaguely European but impossible to place. I turn to find myself face-to-face with a knockout in a red velvet dress so form-fitting it defies physics and a neckline that plunges somewhere south of decency. Her dark hair cascades over one shoulder, and her eyes, almost black in this lighting, study me with amused interest.
“Nope,” I reply, raising my martini slightly. “I’m an open book.”
She laughs, a musical sound that seems to dance above the ambient noise of the party. “Let me guess. Shaken, not stirred?”
“Is it that obvious?”
“Just a hunch.” She slides onto the barstool next to mine, crossing legs that seem to go on for days.
The bartender appears without being summoned. “Negroni,” she orders, not taking her eyes off me. “With an extra dash of Campari.” Then she leans in slightly and says with a dainty laugh, “Actually, I overheard you place your order.”
My face turns hot. Iamthat obvious.
I take another sip of my martini. It tastes like what I imagine James Bond’s cologne smells like. Smooth, sophisticated, and slightly dangerous.
“The trick is to pretend you like it until you actually do.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
She nods at my glass. “Gin. Although I imagine that philosophy can be applied to many things.”
“Oh? Like what?”
“Only unpleasant things.” Her gaze rakes over me. “The pleasant ones require no pretending.”
Her eyes hold mine a beat too long, and I clear my throat. I’ve seen this look before in VIP sections, at after-parties, in hotel lobbies. I’ve been around beautiful women my entire career. The hockey world is full of gorgeous women who hang around players, hoping for…well, whatever it is they’re hoping for. A good time, Instagram photos, free drinks, or sometimes just the thrill of bagging an athlete. I’ve learned to spot the ones with agendas.
This woman definitely has an agenda.
The bartender delivers her drink, and she raises it in a toast. “To new friends.”
I clink my glass against hers, studying her over the rim as I take a sip. She’s gorgeous, sure, but there’s something calculated about her charm.
“I’m Elodie,” she says, extending a hand adorned with a single ruby ring.
“Griffin,” I reply, shaking her hand briefly and then shift slightly, creating a bit more space between us. “I should mention I’m here with someone.”
“Of course you are,” she says, not moving away at all. “The lovely blonde in the stunning blue dress? I noticed you dancing. Not bad.”
“Thanks.” I glance toward the hallway where Anika disappeared. “She should be back any minute.”
“I’m sure she will.” She leans in, her perfume enveloping me…something exotic and spicy. “But she doesn’t know why you’re really here.”
My spine stiffens. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“We don’t have much time,” she murmurs, lowering her voice.
