“Oh, god.” I slap his forearm.
That’s the thing that shocks me the most about Marlow—he never boasts about himself or his money.
I, on the other hand, feel like a kid from the slums.
I turn to look at him, passing him the joint, and he grins that Hollywood smile that makes him irresistible.
A loud clapping of the hands turns my head in the direction of a heavy-built guy in a blue summer suit, boat shoes, a pachuco on his head, and a cigar in his mouth.
“Oh! Let me see!” he booms.
He is walking up to us slowly. In his twenties, he looks worn out and slightly drunk. Besides the prospect of future alcohol abuse and a heart attack, he is loaded with money, I’m sure, and—I have a feeling—sarcasm.
“Archer Crone’s new secretary, isn’t it?”
I smile coldly.
“Or is there something else to those duties?”
Another privileged dick.
I smirk. “How about his bodyguard? Should I choke you out? Punch you? Break your clavicle? Would you like a little demonstration?”
“Kat!” Marlow chuckles.
The guy’s eyes widen.
I grin. “Joking.”
An amused look is frozen on his face as he studies me up and down—just like about everyone around for the last hour—and stretches his hand for a shake. “I’m Dean.” His smile is a hundred percent friendlier now. “I’ve heard you are peculiar. And… Gorgeous, yes.” He turns to Marlow. “I like her,” he says with a silly drunk giggle.
In the next hour, I’m introduced to over two dozen people at the party.
Axavier comes over for a talk. He is one of the few who is friendly, chatting me up about anything but work or Archer.
And I’m trying to work, scouting the girls. Though the cocktails are too strong and I’m already dizzy.
Milena Tsariuk might be one of those babes in the crowd. I’ve seen pictures of her—ironed blond hair, bangs, excessive mascara. She looked like a doll. It’s easy to change the looks. And that’s the thing about pictures—they can be deceiving without hearing a voice or seeing the person move and talk.
“Oh, look, your favorite person is here,” Marlow murmurs.
Margot.
Her pink hair is done up in some intricate design. A couture strapless dress hugs her body perfectly. A diamond necklace covers half of her chest, including the non-existent décolletage. She looks stunning, which makes me angry.
She stares at my dress across the vast terrace floor that is getting crowded with people and slowly turning into a dance floor. House music pumps the blood in my veins.
She says something to the girl next to her, and the entire group turns their heads at me.
I know why. Because I work close to Archer. If Margot is jealous, the rest of them must be furious that some nobody came to the island and snatched the richest guy.
I lean over to Marlow. “S kem iz nih spal Archer?” I nod toward the crowd, asking in Russian which ones Archer slept with so that Axavier doesn’t understand.
Marlow laughs loudly and shakes his head. “I’m not having this conversation with you.”
“C’mon,solnyshka,spill.”
“Many of them are from Deene, sooo…”