She didn’t need to elaborate, I got the idea. And I approved.
‘Now,’ Imogen went on. ‘That concludes the tour. You’re free to join the other members in the ballroom or adjourn to the bar, whichever takes your fancy.’
The bar, obviously, since Sebastian was not in the ballroom. Besides, although I was very much into pretty girls dancing while wearing not a lot, I wasn’t keen on the pointless posturing that was happening in the ballroom. Give a person a billion and they thought they were God’s fucking gift. Half those arseholes hadn’t had to work for what they had, not like I’d had to, and I wasn’t going to stand around pretending I was as good as the rest of them.
I was better. And I saw no need to pretend.
The bar was off the main ballroom and was just as gilded and ornate, with quite a few people gathered at the tables and sitting in the gold-velvet-covered booth seats that ran down one wall. Light glittered and dripped from the chandeliers that hung from the ceiling, sparkling on jewelled necklaces and glinting off cufflinks. The low hum of voices filled the room along with the heavy beat from the ballroom.
People stared at me as I made my way to the bar and I let them look, enjoying the attention. Me, with my knife-fight scars, in my jeans and T-shirt amongst all the jewels and tuxes.
I didn’t need to imagine what they were thinking. I knew, since it was written all over their faces. They were thinking I didn’t belong. That I was scum from the streets, their reminder that, though they might be insulated from the hard cold realities of life by their wealth, hard cold reality was now also here amongst them.
It amused me. I also didn’t give a shit. They could think what they liked. I’d earned my place here and too bad if they didn’t like it.
Strolling up to the bar, enjoying the way the crowd rippled to give me space, I took another scan around before ordering a drink.
A pretty blonde in a red dress with diamonds sparkling around her neck sidled up to me smiling, her intent very clear.
She was just my type: rich, sophisticated and beautiful. Definitely the kind of woman who’d never let a guy like me, rough and blunt and scarred all to hell, touch her if I didn’t have a billion dollars in my bank account.
Definitely a potential cure for the burn of thwarted attraction and annoyance my little chauffeur had ignited inside me.
I bought her a drink and she put her hand on my chest, leaning in to whisper something filthy in my ear. And that was when I finally spotted him.
He was standing right down the other end, one elbow propped casually on the bar, his head bent to talk to a brunette in a tiny black dress.
A deep satisfaction pulsed through me.
Sebastian Fucking Dumont.
My half-brother and once my closest friend. We’d ruled the exclusive school my mother had forced my father to shell out for—the only money he’d ever given her for me—and we’d had plans. So many fucking plans.
Until he’d stolen those plans for himself.
They say you’re supposed to forgive and forget, but I wasn’t a forgiving kind of man. I never forgot a betrayal, either—and I hadn’t forgotten his.
His blue eyes—so like mine—widened as they saw me and I gave him a savage smile.
Yeah, you rich fuck. Here I am, despite what you did to me. Here, in your territory.
Shock gave way to anger, and he frowned. As I expected. He’d be wondering what I was doing here and why the club had let riff-raff like me into its elite halls. And then, no doubt, he’d be calling someone to have me thrown out for daring to gatecrash.
The bastard was in for a couple of big surprises. Especially when he eventually found out the islands he’d been angling for were already sold. To me.
I smiled wider and gave him a jaunty one-finger salute. I’m a member of your precious club, motherfucker, and what are you going to do about it?
He stiffened, turning away to say something to the brunette before pushing his way through the crowd towards me.
But I was done.
I’d showed my face. I’d proved my point.
Time to find Delaney and buy those fucking islands.
CHAPTER THREE
Ellie