Grinding my teeth, I straighten away from her and adjust my top. She’d nearly latched on to it and dragged it straight off whenshe fell into the booth. “I’ll grab you something,” I say. A water, for sure.
Had she snuck away from me at some point to take shots? Maybe someone had accidentally slipped her a roofie, but that’s probably unlikely. Unlike other places, Infernois well-known amongst celebrities and rich kids as one of the safest in terms of date rape bullshit.
The last guy that had gotten caught trying to roofie some rich heiress here had been found out to be a paparazzi looking to score. To my knowledge, he never showed up to work the following week… and no one had seen him since.
The Troyans make far better allies than foes.
As I march towards the bar, I spy Murphy slipping away from the wall to follow, leaving Hughes to look after Roquel. I realize that this is as good a time as any to look for what I need. If Paris is going to be here then I need to lose the tail and head back down to the seventh floor.
Heart pounding as I near the bar, I wait for a bartender dressed in gauzy white pants and a flowing shirt to make his way to me. How they manage to wear their white outfits all night without spilling a single thing on them, after working at The Dionysus Lounge, I’ll never know.
“One vodka spritzer, a water, and two lemon drops,” I say.
Five minutes later, the bartender delivers my order and just as before, asks for no payment. I take the first shot for liquid courage and grimace at the sharp burn in my throat. The second goes just as quickly.
“Miss Donovan.” Murphy’s voice is so quiet it doesn’t seem all that close until I turn towards the man and find him nearly on top of me. “Please remember that Mr. Calloway asked you to be mindful. Even if you’re here for fun, you should temper your alcohol consumption.”
“It’s fine!” I say, giggling too loudly as I lift the vodka spritzer in my hand.
The liquid spills over the rim and straight down my arm. I gasp and swing the drink around wildly, a false overcorrection that ends with half of the contents of the glass spilled down the front of my halter. The bright red fabric darkens and clings straight to my breasts, conforming to the outline of my nipples.
“Ah!” The scream is a bit too shrill, but fuck, the drink is cold and I hadn’t mentally prepared myself well enough.
Murphy’s hand shoots out and he plucks the drink directly from my hand, but it’s too late. The damage is done.
“My shirt…” I glare down at my halter before lifting my gaze to Murphy as he sets the glass onto the bar’s counter and reaches for a stack of napkins nearby.
“This is why I asked that you maintain?—”
“Oh dear.” It takes all of my willpower not to smile as a new voice enters our sphere.
Turning to face the newcomer, I find a tall willowy woman in a skintight cocktail dress the same color as the bartender’s uniform. Against her dark skin, she looks like a fallen angel. Beautiful and dangerous and just who I was hoping to see.
“Your poor outfit.” The woman casts a mournful look down at my stained shirt before offering me her hand. “I’m not sure if you remember me, Miss Donovan, but I’m Bea Alma, the manager of Inferno’s ninth floor. I’m sure you’re still enjoying yourself. If you’d like, we have a selection of clothes for VIP guests to exchange for accidents just like this.”
“Wait, I don’t think—” Murphy’s hands still hover over me, unsure if he should be attempting to mop up my tits or if even attempting to will get him fired. I could tell him that it’ll get him a set of broken fingers if I’m the one to decide, but instead of doing so, I shoot him a scowl and step closer to the woman.
“Do you want me to go back to the table like this?” I snap, gesturing down to my clothes. “I’m sticky and I want to fucking change. Is that a problem?”
“Mr. Calloway—” he starts.
I don’t let him finish. “Would have your head if he knew you let me stand here like this in front of all these people.” My voice arches higher and if Bea looks worried as several patrons turn their heads to watch the commotion, the woman doesn’t show it. She’s got a damn fine poker face.
Murphy frowns and turns to look back at where Hughes is. “One of us should?—”
“What?” I demand, snorting. “You want to watch me undress? Do you want to die?” I cross my arms over my chest as Murphy whips back around, eyes widening.
“No, that’s not what I—” He interrupts himself this time, whispering a low curse. He dips his head. “Fine, I’ll escort you to the changing room and wait outside.”
Glancing at Bea, she merely nods her understanding and sweeps us around the bar. “Of course,” she says, all pleasant smiles and radiant calm. “Right this way.”
Bea leads Murphy and me towards a long hallway that darkens as we walk along it. All of the white and glassy angles of the main club floor turning a murky gray and then a charcoal color until we turn a corner and find nothing but black doors on either side. She stops next to the third one and types in a code on the lock.
The door swings wide, revealing a long room with racks of clothing to one side and several bins and cushioned chairs across from it. “We have changing rooms at the back,” Bea explains as Murphy trails us inside.
I don’t care about the actual clothes—either on the racks or on my body—so I quickly find a replacement shirt and turn toBea who gestures to one of the slim doors at the end of the closet. When Murphy moves to follow, I stop and glare back at him.
Pointing to one of the cushioned chairs, I bite out my words. “You can sit there,” I say. “I’ll be back after I’m cleaned and dressed.”
