It’s an interesting outfit; the skirt hitting just below the knee, the sleeves cuffed at mid-forearm. The asymmetrical neckline leads to a row of buttons and doesn’t show a hint of cleavage, and I was looking straight down when she was beside me.
Vintage, I think it’d be called, but there’s something kind of sexy about it.
Something sexy about her. Fiona. Since I met her, all I’ve got were sharp retorts and dismissive glances, so it’s clear she’s got something against me. And that’s fine—not everyone likes me. But I’m like a dog when that happens; I’ll do whatever to change that fact. I like to be liked.
I like the way she smells—fresh and crisp and apple-y. Fiona. I sniff, the scent still caught in my nose. I like it.
Fiona’s made it to the sitting area. The club is the old Phoenix Casino, converted and spruced up, windowless and with high ceilings and platforms overlooking the dance floor. She stands at the glass wall and looks down, searching for me.
At least I like to think she’s looking for me. I raise my hand and give her another reassuring smile.
Our gaze meets, and Fiona nods, her lips curving in a hint of a smile.
I keep watching as she looks over the club, a solitary figure in the green dress. She closes her eyes and breathes deeply until her shoulders visibly relax.
I don’t know what that was, but she seems okay now. I should get Bexley, tell her to check on Fiona.
I give Fiona one last long look before turning to search past those lucky enough to have gotten into my nightclub for Bexley or her brother.
My sister told me investing in the club was a solid choice, and I have to agree with her. Every little bit I make on my own makes it just that much easier to deal with my grandfather and his archaic ideas about family duty and responsibilities.
But no thoughts of my family tonight. Tonight is for fun, a celebration. Party.
I finally meet Grayson’s gaze over the mosh of women surrounding him and give a nod like Lando on the skiff drifting over the Sarlacc pit. He’s still smiling; Grayson is good at this, almost as good as me, but I can tell he’s had enough. Beside him, Bexley looks frazzled at the constant barrage of cell phones being thrust in her face.
I catch the eye of one of the bouncers and give him the signal to break up the crowd. Publicity is one thing, but enough is enough. The camera guy has what he came for and it’s time to get this party started.
“Mase Stirling!”
I turn, pasting on the smile in case there’s a phone in my face, which happens more often than you’d imagine. I have fans who know all my stats, and those are the ones I like because talking baseball is one of my favourite things to do. But those here in the club, or on the Strip, or who intentionally bump into me in the hotel lobby, those are different. They don’t want to talk about my last game or plans for the team. They want their piece of me, their fifteen minutes to brag that they know me, and that’s not because I’m a really good ball player.
It’s because of my grandfather.
Gordon Stirling II, who some people think has more money than God.
How much money does God need anyway?
“Mase. I just knew you’d be here.” The blonde practically wraps herself around me, despite my lack of excitement at the thought.
This girl wants a piece of me and I’ve given out too many already tonight.
“Arabella.” At least three people take a picture as she cozies up to me and I’m sure there’ll be more. My heart sinks at the thought of what they’ll say.
Hooking up. Mase’s latest. Heartbreak.
I tuck in the smile, already planning an escape because there’s no way I’m about to let myself get caught up in whatever drama this girl is selling. Even though the scraps of pink material show exactly why she used to be one of Victoria’s Secret top angels. “Good to see you.”
In her heels, Arabella can almost look me in the eye. She aims a kiss, but I turn my head at the last moment so she catches my cheek instead. I fight the urge to wipe off the glossy smear.
“Whydidn’t you tell me you’re in town?” Her voice is low and husky, and I have to lean in to catch what she’s saying, which was surely her intention. “Are you here for Heinrich’s party?”
The twelve-year-old hockey fan inside me still does a fist pump at the thought of being invited to a party hosted by Heinrich. SometimesIdon’t even believe my life.
“I’m here foraparty.” I give a quick wave behind me where Grayson and Bexley have been freed from the camera and making their way to the stairs, followed by the others.
Arabella squints at the group. “Is that the Suitor guy? Fun.” Her expression suggests something different. “We’ve got a table in the VIP area. Join us.”
Not on your life. “Thanks, darlin’, but I’m lookin’ after my bro tonight.”