Page 20 of Good Girl's Bad Lessons

“Let’s do it,” Emma said, egging him on. She flashed him one of those incredibly naïve smiles she didn’t know she pulled off. A smile that clawed its way down his throat and clutched his heart.

He glanced at the line of impeccably clad guests, the men in their smoking suits and women wearing sequined dresses, holding jewel-encrusted clutches, and some even had on coveted fur wraps. He flexed and relaxed his fingers, skimming around the large space filled with guests, tables, and waiters.

I’m finally here. One step closer to meeting Desmorais. The opportunity to buy back what was taken from him. His father was a piece of work and never really cared for his feelings, which suited Nico fine, since talking about them never made it to his priority list.

A thrill of excitement bolted through him.

The hostess took them to their seats, ones he had paid good money for. A band on the stage played songs he didn’t immediately recognize, but the melodies would have soothed his nerves if he weren’t so freaking anxious. Relax, man. You got this.

“You know what’s funny?” Emma leaned closer, and he caught a whiff of her sweet and spicy floral scent.

He popped his knuckles. “What?”

She tilted her head to one side then nudged his chest playfully. “You’re the billionaire, and you want to make a deal because of my connection.”

He bit back a smile. “Touché, Emma. Now that we’re here, I’m counting on you to work your magic and hold your part of the bargain.”

“Here’s an idea. What if I walk around to see if I can find Desmorais? Casually bump into him, ask him how he’s doing, so when I introduce you it doesn’t seem so staged, since you’ve been trying to get a hold of him since forever?”

“Good idea.”

She flashed him a smile that seared his insides. Damn her. Diavola.

He watched her stand and zigzag among the arriving guests, the heat inside him only growing at each step she took, her hips swaying in time with the sensual song the band played. Damn her. If she wasn’t so set on getting her loser boyfriend back—

Nico touched his collar. Even if Simon wasn’t game, she couldn’t just be his fuck buddy. Emma wanted and deserved a whole lot more, and he couldn’t give it to her. Hell, Zaine knew as much, which was why he’d probably resent him, too. No matter how old you are, you never want to see your sister bang the less likely to commit.

Unlikely. He squared his shoulders. Not less likely.

A waiter handed him a flute of champagne, and he drank the bubbly in one quick gulp, fully aware he needed hard liquor to endure the rest of the evening.

“Nico Giordano?” asked a man walking up to him.

Nico blinked, recognizing James Perry, an oil giant from Houston. Someone he’d made business deals with on the East Coast and whom he met at functions and had exchanged a word or two. Nico stood and gave him a firm handshake. “James Perry. Small world.”

Tall, lanky James nodded. “I know. I did some business with Elton Lewis in the past. He’s helping organize this shindig,” the fifty-something-year-old said, circling his finger. “Insisted I come. So here I am. What’s your excuse?”

“Emma Cavanaugh, my girlfriend, is big into charity,” Nico said. He’d shared his eagerness to buy the house with only family and close friends. The business world had taught him to keep important things to himself.

“Girlfriend?” James whistled. “Wow. I can’t believe you. Actually, I’ll believe it when I see it. Nico Giordano, whipped.”

Nico lifted his hand in disagreement. “I said girlfriend. Not wife.”

James took a sip of his scotch. “You say that, my friend. That’s how it all begins. Pretty soon you’ll be her lapdog.”

“Oh, please. Lapdogs are for suckers. You might as well hand over your balls on a tray, because you won’t be needing them anymore.”

James started to laugh, then his face sobered, and he reached for the tumbler he’d left on the table.

Nico frowned. “What, are you sensitive about a lapdog joke? Should I search for teacup Chihuahuas in your closet?”

A clearing of a throat made Nico turn around, to see Desmorais, the man he’d been trying to impress. He’d seen only a picture or two of the older gentleman online, though the intense glare on his oval face had nothing gentle about it.

With thinning hair but not yet bald, Desmorais stared at him with fire in his brown eyes. Nico’s blood froze. What could he possibly have done to upset the man he’d never met in person?

A short man with trimmed hair and slick glasses stood next to Desmorais with the terrified look of an assistant. He opened his mouth, but with a hand gesture, Desmorais silenced him, and the assistant drew in a sharp breath, then snapped his jaw shut.

Whatever happened, he wouldn’t miss the opportunity he’d come for. “Monsieur Desmorais, I’m honored to meet you, sir,” he said, stretching out his hand. “Nico Giordano. I’ve come a long way to contribute to this worthy cause.”

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