Page 125 of Cruel Paradise

“Did you switch the name cards on our table?” I growl the moment Kirill walks over to me.

“Of course. Emma’s sitting on your right.”

I’m tempted to make Kirill rearrange it so that Jessica is sitting far away from me, but that would be asking too much. I leave Jessica gossiping with a gaggle of her equally nauseating friends and march straight for where we’ll be seated in the position of honor at the front of the ballroom.

Just in time to catch a certain woman in red trying to switch around the name cards so that she’snotsitting next to me.

“Is there a problem, Ms. Carson?”

She lets out a startled gasp and nearly drops her placard on one of the decorative candles adorning the centerpiece. Her cheeks flush a bright red, only a shade lighter than her dress. She looks even more ravishing up close.

“I just figured you’d prefer to be sitting next to someone more important,” she bites out.

“I’ll make do with you.”

Her jaw clenches tight as she sits herself down and angles her chair away from me.

The little siren is in quite the mood tonight.

Me being here with Jessica has her all riled up. I wonder if that’s the reason she chose to dance with Adrik—to make me feel what she’s feeling. Not that she could have known who he is. What he’s done.

“Oh, what a lovely table!” Jessica cries as she appears from nowhere and claims the seat on my left. “So elegant.”

Of course, her eyes land right on Emma. She’s the only outsider at this table. That and shedoesstand out.

That dress was made for the spotlight. And she was made for that dress.

Jessica leans around me. “Hello there.” When Emma tries to ignore her, Jessica actually flutters her hand in Emma’s face. “Helloooo.”

Emma affords her a tight smile. “Hi.”

“I’m Jessica.”

“I know.”

Jessica’s smile falters just a tad, but she manages to pick it right back up. “That dress is justgorg!Is it Carolina?”

“Um, I believe it’s Vivienne Westwood.”

“Of course! It’ssoVivienne.” She’s laughing a little too often—a surefire sign that she’s feeling insecure as hell. “I’m sorry; I didn’t get your name.”

“It’s Emma, Ms. Allens. We’ve met several times.”

Jessica purses her lips and taps one manicured nail against them. “Have we?”

“I’m Mr. Oryolov’s assistant.”

Jessica’s smile freezes. She stares at Emma, then glances at me, then back to Emma. “You’re the… assistant?”

“I am.”

Jessica’s smile drops instantly and she leans back against her seat. “Why is yourassistantat our table?” she hisses at me under her breath.

It makes me want to slice her tongue right out of her mouth, but I sheathe my instincts and give her only a cursory glare. “Because I asked her to be.”

She must’ve actually caught the menace in my voice because, for once, she shuts up. However, the moment the appetizers land on the table, her hand lands on my inner thigh, too close to my crotch for comfort. She squeezes and laughs distractedly at something Mrs. Pelham, the wife of a prominent city councilman, is saying from across the table. I put my hand down on hers and she sucks in a breath, probably assuming that I’m being affectionate.

Then I remove her hand from my leg and her smile dies on her lips.

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