Luis gives a reluctant grunt that confirms my hunch.
“And he’s powerful? Connected?”
Another grunt in the positive.
“So, what’s the harm?”
“You’ll become an instant pariah,” Luis whispers as I slip away into the crowd.
His words hardly deter me. I welcome the challenge. My nerves seem to melt away in the fire of this type of competition. It feels like I’ve already chosen my path—I’m sure I’ll regret it in the morning, I usually do, but when I get like this, not even I can stop myself.
Plus, there’s something about the tall, broad, brooding stranger in the dusty jean jacket that has me locked in. The closer I get, the hotter I become. Montoya looks more like a bad boy from back home than the hoity-toity ‘men’ who Luis expects me to court. If I have to play this high-stakes game, why not at least do it my way?
I may have almost been a queen once, but now I’m a little rougher around the edges than royalty might require from a lady—if I’m going to claw my way back onto the throne, who better to do it beside than a man who’s just as rough?
Maybe I’m just trying to justify my impulsive behaviour, or maybe it’s because I’m a little hot for the way that blue jean jacket tugs on Montoya’s broad shoulders like a waterfall over two powerful boulders, or maybe I’m just crazy. The reasoning hardly matters, I’ve made my decision.
Screw playing it safe, I’m going for the brute.
3
Angel
I’m not deaf, I can hear the whispers, I just don’t care. I’ve stopped by this stuffy gala for one reason and one reason only: business, and no dirty look from some senator or glare from his mangy wife is going to make me turn back now.
They can walk on eggshells around me all they want, but I don’t go anywhere on tip-toes. I march, and right now, I’m looking for my next destination. There’s a fat, balding accountant somewhere in this big ballroom who owes me answers, and I’m going to get them from him even if it means pulling a few of his teeth in public. The elites in this room wouldn’t dare do anything about it. They know what I’m about, even if just peripherally, and they know it’s not worth getting in my way.
“Hello.” A frilly white dove with shiny caramel skin and a bright smile suddenly stands before me, blocking my path. Her shimmering brown eyes barely go up to my chest, and the fact that I have to tilt my neck downwards to meet her gaze only serves to piss me off more. What the hell is this? This woman isn’t fat, she’s not balding, and I doubt she’s an accountant. I’m not here for her or her weirdly traditional outfit. What is this, a fucking quinceaneras?
“No, thank you.” I wave her off. Stupid girl. She stands like a statue as I march past her. I swear to god, if I made this trip downtown for nothing, someone’s going to pay. André Cuadrado better be here.
I cut through the overdressed hordes, hunting for my prey. My intel says he’s here, my gut says he’s here, so he’s definitely fucking here, I just have to make the catch.
It doesn’t take long to spot the loathsome accountant. He’s cornered a waitress by the kitchen door and he’s stuffing appetizers into his slimy gullet. The pig. Getting fat off of my money. I should have known he’d be near the food.
“Hey!” I shout, and the crowd parts. André slowly turns around, his eyes as wide as the saucers he’s munching off of. He’s not a quick man, and before he can even think about trying to run, I have my fingers clenched around his collar.
“Angel!” André chokes jovially, like he thinks he can fool me. I’m the last person he wants to see and no greasy smile is going to convince me otherwise. Plus, where does he get off calling me by my first name? He’s not my friend. My grip tightens around his collar as I push him backwards until the fat of his shoulder blades shakes the wall beside the kitchen door. André’s feet flail off the ground, catching my shins in the process; it all only serves to make me angrier.
“What went wrong with my payment, André!?” There must be a thousand eyes on us right now, a thousand witnesses. Those silent guards out front had all the weapons money could buy, but they also had the brains to recognize me. I’m not here to socialize and the second someone speaks up against me is the second shit will start to get real. Nobody here wants that; they all live in their lavish cocoons and fantasy worlds, and they’re happy to keep it that way.
André stammers over himself, clearly searching deep into the pit of his excuse-bin for something to ease my anger. What he finally comes up with doesn’t help my temper. “Please, not here, Angel. That’s my son!”
The fool, like another witness is going to change my mind. I follow his pudgy finger over to an even chubbier young man, who has a pig in a blanket hovering just in front of his gawking lips. There’s little doubt in my mind that they’re related. The kid couldn’t be much younger than me, but I decide to give his scumbag father one small piece of mercy—it’s the only piece he’s going to get.
“Fine, let’s do this in private,” I growl, sliding André along the wall until his cushy back hits the kitchen door. I push and we blast through into the heat of the galley.
Flames skip up behind us and sweat drips down the porky accountant’s oily skin. “Why hasn’t the payment gone through on my new building yet?” I demand to know.
André’s beady eyes search wildly for more excuses, but I hold my gaze just as steady and firm as my grip around his collar. Soon enough, the scared energy drains from his eyes and he’s left to accept that there’s no more running from me or my questions.
“They haven’t accepted it yet,” André mutters, unable to meet the fire raging in my eyes. His lazy stare droops down to my knuckles. I try to shake some sense back into him.
“Why not?”
André hesitates to answer, or maybe he’s just starting to pass out from the heat—another shake seems to wake him up. “They’re having second thoughts about associating with you,” he drools.
“Bullshit!” I hiss.