Page 9 of A Secret and a Lie
“You look lovely tonight,” Julien compliments me, holding open the door to the backseat of the SUV. I rarely, if ever, back out of appointments with clients, though for the first time in ages, I considered it. While it has nothing to do with the gentleman offering me his hand, I’m still on edge.
Carissa is meeting with Milton for the first time tonight, and despite her assurance that she’s comfortable taking him on as a client, I don’t feel great about it. I even went so far as to ask her to reconsider, but she was adamant. I’d never deign to dictate or force any of the men or women who work for me to take or refuse a potential client. That’s up to them. Although, I did ask Marcus to increase security, placing an extra man on the second floor, and Iinsistedthat she see Milton there so there’d be additional safety measures.
Regardless of the lengths I went to for her comfort, I’m still twitchy.
This is her choice, I remind myself, trying to focus on the present and not what might be happening halfway across town within the walls of my haven.
Placing my hand in his, I step out of the car, ensuring that the revolver strapped to the inside of my ankle isn’t seen as I make my exit. The skirt of my dress feels like liquid against my smooth legs, the form-fitting silk onyx evening gown shining beneath the sparkling lights of the gala.
Julien leads us past the row of reporters and photographers, and when he stops to speak to a journalist, I tuck myself closer to him, smiling up at his handsome face dotingly.
We pose together for a few photos before he leads us inside, murmuring in my ear, “Thank you for coming.”
I return the sentiment with an authentic smile because, at this point, I would accompany him for free, and he knows that. If heweren’t one hundred percent gay, I might’ve dated him. He’s certainly handsome: early forties, exceedingly tall, with a dark complexion and eyes the color of hot caramel.
Inside the gala, an orchestra plays a melodic, classical tune from their station in the corner. Like clockwork, a server greets us, offering us a beverage, and Julien passes me a flute of bubbling champagne, snagging one for himself. Wrapping my slender fingers daintily around the glass stem, I bring the flute to my lips so that the bubbles dance across my tongue. Slipping my free hand into the crook of Julien’s arm, I stay at his side, playing the part of adoring girlfriend as he mingles with dignitaries, government officials, and America’s elite.
As always, I pretend not to know a single person here other than Julien, and every client in attendance feigns ignorance as to who I am as well. It works well this way. It always has.
And I’ve ensured that it always will.
The sound of raucous laughter has my neck twisting to find a group of men gathered around the bar, tossing their heads back in a carefree nature. Only, I know better. That’s the thing about this city: everyone’s a liar.
Julien’s hand slides over mine tucked into his elbow, capturing my attention. “Would you mind terribly if I spoke to those men for a moment?”
I can’t, for the life of me, understand what Julien might want withthosemen, but I confirm that my face remains benign, pleasant even, before nodding. “Of course not. I’ll take the opportunity to powder my nose.”
Really, I’d just like a moment to text Corinne to confirm that things are still going well with Carissa. Maybe then, my uneasiness will settle.
Genevieve
Islip from the powder room, tucking my phone back into my clutch after confirming that things are going well tonight. Even so, my intuition is alive, churning with disquietude. Something feelsoff; I just can’t put my finger on it.
I’m about to round the corner and reenter the lavish ballroom, when I’m stopped dead in my tracks.
“Genevieve,” a deep, throaty voice calls out from behind me.
My eyes close, momentarily savoring the way the sonorous sound sends a delightful shiver through my entire body, settling between my legs like a lover’s kiss. If that name had come from anyone else, I would’ve had the opposite reaction. There are only a handful of people who’d use that name, and I recognized the vague familiarity immediately.
My real name is a piece of myself I keep locked down. I never give it freely; it’s a sliver of truth that’s earned. The reason behind my revelation has eluded me. There was simply something about him that implored me to hand over a crumb of authenticity. I hope I don’t come to regret that decision.
Allison is my new name, the identity I use whenever I’m not with Marcus or Corinne.
“Ford,” I remark, my tone dripping with sugary syrup as I turn to face him.
“I didn’t expect to see you here,” he admits as he descends the last few steps of the grand staircase. His jet-black tuxedo hugs his large, muscular body in all the right places, and he’s even more handsome now than he was in the dim light of the bar. His deep brown hair has a tousled look to it, like he’s been running his hands through the thick strands all day, though I suspect that the style was more effortlessly achieved.
However, his undeniable handsomeness is not what has me fighting the impulse to drop to my knees, rest my hands on my thighs, and dip my chin in a submissive pose as I await his instructions. No, I can blame that entirely on the dominance that radiates from him.
But I’ll never do that again, not until I’m safe enough to put my head in the jaws of a trustworthy predator who makes me feel safe, valued, and secure. Unfortunately, that requires a level of trust I simply cannot give—to anyone.
When he reaches me, he adds, “And curiously on Julien Winston’s arm.”
“Curious,” I muse, failing to hide my smile.
The corner of his mouth quirks briefly, and if I were wearing panties, his smirk would have surely disintegrated them.
“You look exquisite tonight.” His words set my blood ablaze, like pouring gas on a small fire. Although the compliment almost mirrors Julien’s, it feels wholly different. His heated gaze rakes over my form, dragging up my body, further stoking the raging inferno.
