"You're staring," I kept my gaze on the entrance of the hall, wondering when the host of the party would show up.
"I'm sorry, I can't help it," Sam said.
I grabbed a drink from a waiter passing by, I was going to need it. I touched the mic gently as I looked around.
"Tara," I called.
"No sign of him yet," her voice came through the mic.
"What kind of host comes late to their own party?" Sam scoffed.
"Something's not right," I said, scanning the giggling crowds with the glittering champagne in their hands.
I paused when I saw a waiter by the corner. Even though he was dressed in a waiter's uniform, something about him stood out, like he wasn't supposed to be there. Something about him felt off. His eyes kept flickering to the door—too often for it to be a coincidence. Like he was waiting for something, or someone. His eyes met mine and he looked away quickly. Something was wrong.
I touched my mic. "Tara, waiter on my two."
I held Sam's arm and pulled his head to me so he wouldn't turn and gawk at the guy blatantly like the idiot he was.
"Don't look," I said.
He smiled, his eyes doing that weird thing again as he stared at me.
"You're right, no other view is as great as the one in front of me."
I tried to rein in the bile as I waited for Tara.
"Nothing stands out. Elliot McGraugh, he's been in and out of jobs for a while. He has a criminal record, uh, robbery. Did two years and got out a couple of months ago." Tara read out.
"Why would a catering service, especially one for rich people party hire an ex-convict?" I glanced at Elliot.
"Hey, don't stereotype him," Sam said.
"What?"
"You know, not everyone comes from well to do families, and have things handed down to them," he paused and stared at me.
"Most of us grew up poor and hungry, wondering when the next meal will come. We had no choice but to do bad things to survive."
I let his words sink in. "You think I grew up happy and well-off?" I scoffed in derision.
"I didn't-.'
"Save it," I touched my mic. "Keep an eye on the waiter just in case. Something doesn't feel right."
"You've got it," Tara said.
I drank my remaining champagne. "I need a drink."
I walked towards the table where there were lots of snacks. I had been to enough rich people parties to recognize most of the overpriced snacks, some of which had such ridiculous names I didn't bother remembering it.
"Ugh, rich people," I muttered in disgust.
"Champagne?" a waiter asked and I took a glass.
"Thanks."
She nodded and walked away.
"Eyes on Damon?" I asked Tara.
"Not yet."
I glanced at my wristwatch. Why the hell is he late?
"Say, could you get me some of those? They look delicious," she gulped.
I picked up a smoked trout croquette—I had no idea how I remembered the name and turned to the CCTV on my left.
"It does look good, doesn't it?" I took a bite.
"Don't play with me, Mia."
"Mm, taste good too," I took a second bite and winked at the camera.
"Do you really wanna do that to someone who's watching your back?" I knew the threat was real.
I dropped the croquette--- still don't know how I remember the name. "No, ma'am."
"His car just pulled up," Tara said, and I straightened.
He grabbed my attention as soon as he stepped into the room. I had not noticed how tall he was when we first met, but the way his presence commanded attention, I knew he turned heads wherever he went. His smile lit up the room as he shook hands with people and talked to them. His black suit hugged his body tightly, accentuating his biceps. My gaze trailed to his veiny hands, and I gulped when I remembered how tightly those hands had held my hair. His Adam's apple bopped as he talked, and I licked my lips in response.
I felt something warm down there and I clasped my thighs together. I couldn't feel this way about him. His father killed Wes, someone I had considered family. He was my target, my mission. I was supposed to end his life in the most agonizing way ever. Tony had entrusted the mission to me, and I knew I had to see it through. For Wes.
His eyes met mine, and I could see the recognition in his eyes. It made the weeks that had passed since the last time I saw him feel like hours. We held each other's gazes for more than a minute, whispering our deepest fantasies to each other without a word. I saw his eyes trail down my body as he took in my dress. I was clad in a long red dress that draped over my feet, and hugged my body, accentuating my shape. The dress had a long slit that exposed my thigh, and my lips curled up in a smirk when I saw the lust in his eyes. I pulled my hair to one side, exposing my neck and turned my back to him.
I felt his stare burn into my exposed back, stopping at slim waist. I picked up another croquette and ate it.
"Hey," Sam wrapped an arm around my waist. Normally, I would have slapped it away and glared at him, but I felt Damon's stare on me.
"Hey," I smiled flirtatiously at him.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Damon staring, the smile gone from his face. So, I grabbed Sam's tie and pulled him closer, pretending to adjust his collar.
"Have I told you you look good in a suit?"
I saw Damon walk towards us from the corner of my eye and I smiled.
"No, I don't think you have," Sam looked surprised I paid him a compliment.
He was almost there.
"Well, you do."
"Hey," his voice was still the same as I remembered.
I turned and met his gaze. Those familiar blue orbs pulled me in like it did the last time, and I couldn't look away even if I wanted to.
"Hey," I paused and scrunched my eyebrows in confusion. "I'm sorry, have we met?"
He looked taken aback. "Um, yeah. We met the other day at the bar."
Sam pulled me closer to him and Damon glared at his arms around my waist.
I paused for a second, pretending to remember and let out a loud gasp. "Yeah, oh, hi. Um, Declan, right?"
He scoffed. "Damon."
"Right, Damon. I'm sorry, my memory's all fuzzy these days."
His gaze trained in on my waist again. "I can see."
"Well, Damon, it's great to see you again," I looked around. "I had no idea this was your party."
"Really?" his eyebrow shut up.
"Yeah," I pointed at Sam. "He invited me."
"Sam McAddams, big fan of your products," he held out his hand to him.
Damon took it firmly. "Damon Walker."
He glanced at me. "So, you're Ivy's-," he trailed off.
"Ivy?" Sam sounded confused and I pinched his arm making him jump slightly.
"Colleague. We work together," I said.
His gaze rested on Sam's arm around my waist for the third time, and I pulled away from him.
"Colleague?" his tone sharpened.
"Great colleagues," Sam said with an undertone, and I almost smacked myself in the face.
Damon's face tightened as he stared at him. The uncomfortable silence almost made me puke the crap I ate earlier.
"Yikes," Tara said.
Yikes was right. The two men were in a battle of testosterone as they stared at each other without a word with me trapped in the middle. A woman walked over to us and grabbed Damon's arm.
"I need to borrow him for a minute if you don't mind," she smiled, her gaze pausing on me.
I zeroed in on her hand wrapped around his arm and furrowed my eyebrows. I had never in my life wanted anything more in that moment than to cut off her fingers one by one, starting with her thumb, rendering each hand unusable. She didn't wait for a reply and just dragged him along with her.
"You okay?" Sam asked.
"Yeah. What was that earlier?" I snapped, still burning from the tension.
"What?" he had the audacity to look confused.
"The staredown. Sam, you do know we are just colleagues, right? There is nothing happening here."
He stared at me saying nothing for a few seconds and cleared his throat. "Well, thank you for clearing that up. Now I just feel stupid," he backed away.
"Goodnight, Mia," he paused. "Or should I say Ivy?"
With that, he turned around and left.
"That was-," Tara said, and I nodded.
"Maybe I should lay off men for a little while," my gaze found and held Damon's.
His eyes told me he was doing everything he could to stop himself from taking me right there on the table in front of the strangers around us. They were intense, smothering and I burned under its severity. I felt pulled to him, so much so I wondered what would happen if I just... gave in.
Wes.
His face flashed through my mind, and the invisible pull snapped. I couldn't do this; I couldn't be a victim of my desires. I had a far more important thing to do; kill Damon. The faster I killed him, the faster I could get back to my life. Just then, I noticed Elliot, the suspicious waiter heading somewhere. His gaze was focused on someone, and I saw him reach from something behind his back; a gun. I followed his gaze to Damon who was staring at me with those blue beautiful eyes. Elliot had a gun, and his target was Damon.
I wondered briefly if Tony had hired another assassin to kill Damon, but I didn't recognize Elliot, so I knew he wasn't one of ours. Besides, Tony wanted him to die a slow and agonizing death; a gun was a mercy killing. No, no, this wasn't Tony. Someone else wanted Damon dead.
I ran to him with all my might, and just when Elliot pointed his gun at him, I jumped on him, pushing him to the ground as the gun went off. The loud bang brought about chaos, as the guests screamed in terror and ran towards the exit. Elliot cussed when he saw Damon still breathing. Before he could reload and pull the trigger, I ran towards him and kicked the gun away from him. The gun laid a few feet away from us, it was closer to him. His eyes flickered to the gun and so did mine.
He ran towards it, and I grabbed him by the hair, wrapped my body around him, did a 360, and pulled him to the ground. He squabbled to get out of my hold as I tightened my arms around his neck.
"Who sent you?" I grunted. He was strong. I locked my thighs around him and tightened the choke.
"F-fuck you," the words came out in a squeak.
"Now, that isn't any way to speak to a lady," I smiled.
His legs flailed as he tried to break free.
"Shh, go to sleep," I said softly as his eyelids fluttered.
I released him when I saw he was knocked out and took in deep breaths.
"Fuck, he was strong," I groaned and stood up.
"You okay?" Tara asked.
"Yes," I stared at his unconscious body. "Like I said, suspicious."
"You-," I turned to the voice to see Damon staring at me. He glanced at the sprawled body and back at me.
"You saved me," he said softly.
I didn't. I just didn't want anyone to kill you before me.
"Thank you."
Don't thank me. I just needed time to figure out to kill you—in the slowest, most agonizing way possible.
He pulled me closer and wrapped me in his arms. His scent reminded me of the candy the kind woman from the shelter always gave me every time I went into her office. I couldn't remember the name, all I knew was I couldn't get enough of it. Just like him. He reminded me of the candy.
Forbidden. Trouble. Delicious. Unhealthy.
Shit.