She’d already attracted the attention of an aging rock star in the lift on the way to the ground floor of her Macau hotel. It didn’t matter that he’d seemed half blind when he’d leered at her; attracting any attention at all made her stomach knot with acid anxiety.
She’d let her guard down with Simon, had believed his interest to be pure and genuine, only to discover he wanted nothing more than a bit on the side. The idea that he’d assumed because she was a Trevelli she would condone his indecent proposal, just as her mother continued to accept her father’s, had shredded the self-esteem she’d fought so hard to attain when she’d removed herself from her parents’ sphere.
She wasn’t a coward, but the fear that she might never be able to judge another man’s true character sent a cold shiver through her.
Pushing the thought away, she straightened her shoulders, but another troubling thought immediately took its place.
What if she’d made a huge mistake in coming here?
What if Narciso didn’t show? What if he showed and she missed him again?
No, she had to find him. Especially in light of the phone call she’d received the morning after she’d signed on to be a Petit Q.
The voice had been calm but menacing. Simon had sold his twenty-five-per-cent share of her business to a third party. ‘We will be in touch shortly about interest and payment terms,’ the accented voice had warned.
‘I won’t be able to discuss any payment terms until the business is up and running,’ she’d replied, her hands growing clammy as anxiety dredged her stomach.
‘Then it is in your interest to make that happen sooner rather than later, Miss Trevelli.’
The line had gone dead before she could say anything more. For a moment, she’d believed she’d dreamt the whole thing, but she’d lived in New York long enough to know loan sharks were a real and credible threat. And Simon had sold his share in her business to one of them.
Panicked and angry with Simon, she’d been halfway across the Indian Ocean before she’d read her Petit Q guidelines and experienced a bolt of shock.
No doubt to protect its ultra-urban-legend status, the Q Virtus Macau caucus was to be a masked event at a secret location in Macau.
Masked, as in incognito. Where the chances of picking out Narciso Valentino would be hugely diminished.
The memory of broad shoulders and elegant fingers flashed across her mind. Yeah, sure, as if she were an expert in male shoulders enough to distinguish one from the other.
Her fingers clenched around her tiny red clutch. She’d come all this way. She refused to admit defeat.
The redhead from Riga turned towards her and Ruby fought not to grit her teeth as the other woman dismissed her instantly.
As the door to the Humvee limo slid shut behind them another jagged stab of warning pierced her. Every cell in her body screamed at her to abandon this line of pursuit and hightail it back home.
She could use the app to find out when Narciso returned to New York. She could confront him on home turf where she was more at ease, not here in this sultry, exotic part of the world where the very air held a touch of opulent magic.
But what if this was her last chance? A man who would fly thousands of miles for a highly secretive event could disappear just as easily given half a chance. She’d been lucky to be in the right place to find out where he’d be at this point in time.
Fate had handed her the opportunity. She wasn’t going to blow it.
The limo hit a bump, bringing her back to reality.
Despite the glitzy lights and Vegas-style atmosphere, the tiny island of Macau held a charisma and steeped-in-history feel that had spilled over from mainland China. She held her breath as they crossed over the Lotus Bridge into Cotai, their final destination.
Bicycles raced alongside sports cars and nineteen-fifties buses in a spectacular blend of ancient and modern.
Less than ten minutes later, they rolled to a stop. Exiting, she looked around and her trepidation escalated. The underground car park was well lit enough to showcase top-of-the-line luxury sports cars and blinged-out four-by-fours next to stretch limos. The net worth in the car park alone was enough to fund the annual gross domestic product of a small country.
The buzz of excitement in her group fractured her thoughts and she hurried forward into waiting lifts. Like her, the other nineteen hostesses were dressed in red gowns for the first evening, and the ten male hosts dressed in red jackets.
Six bodyguards accompanied them into the lifts and Ruby stemmed the urge to bolt as the doors started to close. Five seconds later it was too late.
The doors opened to gleaming parquet floors with red and gold welcoming carpet running through the middle of the vast, suspended foyer.