Finally, as someone else approached him, he said, “Then go eat, Angel.” But as I was leaving, he grabbed my bicep and pulled me back, hissing in my ear, “But don’t forget who you belong to.”
“I won’t.”
Grayson.
Always Grayson.
He let me go with a harsh shove, and I made my way to the long, glittering gold table. All around me, beautiful rich boys with perfect white smiles laughed and flirted with girls who hid theirs behind sparkling champagne glasses.
But not the one boy I wanted.
Not the one who saved his smile just for me.
I munched on truffles that left thick, bitter chocolate residue on my tongue, and had a vision of Josephine at a very similar table, in a very similar dress, not too long ago. I ate slowly, prolonging the moment, scanning the ballroom for a sign of Grayson—a phone.
Alone, it shone at the end of the table under the chandelier light in its diamond case, practically begging me to take it. I assumed it belonged to one of the two women at the end of the table. They swayed and laughed loudly—drunk.
I’d never stolen anything before, but I found myself sliding down the table to the edge. I slid my hand forward, eyes on its owner’s exposed back, slowly pulling it toward me—
“Notice how Grayson is missing?” one said through a mouthfull of truffle.
I froze.
“It’s kind of hard not to!” her friend responded, then she lowered her voice. “Do you think the rumors are true?”
“No way. That would be insane. Could you imagine? But…” the first crooned. “It would be hot, if true. He’s like Crowne Hall’s own broody, Byronic ghost.”
Her friend groaned. “Okay, so, like, you’re still sleeping with your English professor.”
“I mean, a grade’s a grade—”
I didn’t realize how close I was until they turned to get more truffles and froze, eyes wide on me, our noses nearly touching. I quickly shoved my hand behind my back, hiding the phone.
“Um…” The one sleeping with her professor narrowed charcoal-lined eyes, trying to see me through the veil. “Can we help you?”
What happened? Where is Grayson?
I bit my tongue until I tasted blood. They both shared a look, lifting their champagne off the table with ease before walking away on a shared laugh. “The fuck was her problem?”
I didn’t know how long I had until one of them realized their phone was missing. I glanced at West, still busy with the man. I had so many questions, so much I wanted to say to Grayson. What happened while I was gone? Are you okay?
Dear Atlas, where are you? I’m downstairs, I’m home—
No sooner had I sent the message, then the phone was snatched out of my hand.
“Give that back,” I said instantly, without thought, reaching for it. My eyes collided with brown, with a color I dreaded more than the twisting grip on my wrist.
The eyes of Arthur du Lac.
“Ahh!” I cried out, as he yanked my arm into a painful and unnatural position.
“You are poorly trained.”
“I’m not a fucking dog.”
“Very poorly trained,” he murmured. His grip twisted and I swallowed a cry, as he looked at the phone casually. Luckily I’d already signed out of my profile.
Arthur’s meaty thumb pushed into my wrist bone another second, then he dropped me. I let out a breath, my wrist throbbing—Shit.