“I outgrew him.” She drained her glass and extended it lazily for a top-up. “And I didn’t feel like spending the rest of my life grading papers and making lasagna for dinner guests who talked in circles.”
Marise filled her glass again, then put a dash in hers. “And then?”
“I travelled. Watched, learned, took notes. By the time I landed in New York, I knew what I wanted.”
“And what was that?”
“Everything.” Darlene took a sip and met Marise’s eyes over the rim. “Money, status, leverage. I married a wealthy man for it.”
“You weren’t happy with him?”
“No. He was a bore.”
“But everyone needs something.” Marise shifted slightly on the couch, making sure Darlene’s glass stayed full.
Darlene tilted her head. “You want a bankroll.”
“I’m not looking for a sponsor. I’m looking for a collaborator.”
Darlene let out a purring sound and settled closer. Her bare thigh brushed Marise’s. Her hand followed. A light stroke, fingers ghosting along skin, lingering too long to be casual.
Marise ignored it. “I suspect you’re not in New York for pleasure.”
Darlene grinned, slurring a little with her words. “No. I moved to Dubai after the divorce. I’m here because I learnt of an opportunity.”
“Is it lucrative?”
“Very. I’m going to make a fortune.”
Marise placed her hand on her thigh and stroked. “How are you going to do that?”
Darlene purred, pleased with herself. “An auction.”
“Oh? What kind?”
Darlene gave her a sly smile. “Private. Highly selective. You won’t find it on any dark web forums. It’s not about access. It’s about knowing the right people.”
“You’re running it?”
“I’m the gatekeeper,” Darlene said with relish. “The item’s mine.”
Marise sipped her wine slowly. “You’re not worried it’ll blow back on you?”
“It’s encrypted, firewalled, and hosted overseas. The bidding will be anonymised. The data won’t trace to me.”
Marise blinked slowly, calculating. “And the buyers?”
“Names you’d know,” Darlene said, pride heavy in her voice. “Politicians. Defence consultants. Tech moguls. All interested. The kind of people who want a shortcut to the next decade of energy dominance.”
“You do have influence. What’s the buy-in?”
“A special server,” Darlene said, leaning forward now, lips close to Marise’s ear. “Custom access key. Wednesday night, West 12th, back room of the Valmont Club. Nine sharp.”
Marise nodded slowly, careful not to react.
Darlene smiled languidly and trailed her hand along Marise’s knee. “You’re very tense. Shall I loosen you up.”
Marise held up the bottle. “It’s a shame to waste this. It must have cost a fortune.”
