Page 2 of The Faking Game
I push off the couch and head over to the bar.
Maybe I’ll use the restroom too.
Maybe I’ll just leave and go back to my new apartment.
I’m a few steps shy of the bar when I feel the hand on my lower back again. Shit. It’s Chad or Dean. He’s leaning close. So close, in fact, that I can smell the mixture of cologne and sweat.
“Hey,” he says in my ear. His breath washes over my skin, and I shudder. Ugh. “Where are you sneaking off to?”
Maybe other women find this charming. Maybe it’s wrong that I can’t. I twist, and his hand falls off my body. “Just getting more to drink.”
His eyes are glazed. Has he taken something? How does Poppy know these guys? “I’ll buy you a drink!” He’s screaming, but the words barely reach me over the pounding music. He leans in closer, his hand now searching again. It lands on my hip. “What was your name again?”
“Eléanore!” I scream.
He grins. “I love that name! It’s actually my favorite name.”
God help me. “Really?” Why is the line for the bar moving so slowly? I try to take a step away, but he follows along, like we’re dancing.
“You’re a model too, right?”
“Yes. But I don’t model a lot anymore.” Or that’s the goal, even if it’s hard to say no when my modeling agent calls. She works for my family’s company, and for my older brother, and it seems like they want me to be the face of something all the time.
He nods, two quick dips that make it seem like he didn’t really hear a word I said. “Yeah, yeah. You know what, it’s loud in here. I live close by! In Tribeca!”
Shit. I hate when guys do this, and I’m already finding the words to say no. Blame it on a headache. I have plans. There’s a water leak in my apartment… I want to stay here. Turning guys down is the one thing I’m really, really good at.
It’s all I’ve ever done.
He leans in even closer, and ohgod. There are people behind me, around me, and then him. Blocking me in.
Clubbing used to be fun, once. Now it’s filled with cramped VIP spaces and expectations.
“Back off.” The words are deep, audible over the sound of the speakers. A man has pushed his way between me and Chad, his broad shoulder half hiding the other man from view.
My stomach drops. I recognize that voice.
“I’m sorry!” Chad yells. “Is she with you?”
The man turns and looks down at me. I haven’t seen him in almost six months. I’ve tried not to think of him, the way I always do, this man my brother calls his best friend. He has a legacy that rivals my own. He was once the famed Calloway heir, but after his father died, he took over all of it.
The estates, the company, the power.
West looks at me with narrowed eyes. His dark brows are pulled down low, that scar cutting through the one on the left. I’ve always wondered how he got it.
“Yes. She is,” he says. “And she’s leaving.”
Chad melts away. Disappears back into the crowd in a way that West can’t, not with his height and build.
“What are you doing here?” I ask him, even if I know. If I suspect.
He leans closer. Right.The music.I stand on my tiptoes, getting closer to him than I ever have before. “What are you doing here? Did Rafe send you?”
“He didn’t have to,” West says in a clipped voice. “Come. We’re leaving.”
“I don’t want to leave,” I say. Even if my feet ache, I’m tired, and I can’t wait to get some fresh air. There’s only one reason he’s here. Rafedidsend him to babysit me.
West’s hand closes around my elbow. “We’re leaving,” he says, and the crowd I battled with only moments ago parts for him. Lets us through. I follow him, and damn it, each step that leads us to the door allows me to breathe a bit easier.
