Mr. Goldstein leans down to whisper, “It’s an open bar. I hope you’re not falling for his act.”
I chuckle, assuring him that I’m well aware of Kirby’s cheapness.
Once we have our drinks, I let Kirby lead me away and introduce me to various men and women that he works with. My ability to make small talk is nonexistent. I find myself barely able to nod and manage one-word responses. The old me would have been handing out business cards and using the evening as a networking tool. I’m just not in the mood to socialize, and I’m starting to think it was a terrible idea to come out tonight.
I tug Kirby aside on his third trip to the bar. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to cut out early.”
“Really? Already?”
I nod. “Yeah, I’m sorry. I’m just not in the mood to meet a bunch of new people tonight.”
He nods, seeming to understand. “Okay. I’ll call you a cab.”
“Thank you.” I’m glad he’s not going to try to talk me into staying.
“There’s just one more person I want you to meet.”
I’m about to refuse when my eyes lock with Hale’s. His dark eyes are pinned on mine. Shivers race across my body.
Holy fuck! How did he know I was here?
Kirby places a possessive hand on my shoulder. “Brielle, this is my roommate, Cameron.”
My entire world drops out from beneath me.
Hale—or Cameron, or whoever he is—strides right up to me as if he owns me. He looks devastatingly handsome in his expensive black tuxedo, crisp white shirt, and perfectly styled black silk bowtie. A tie, that if I know him at all, will likely be used later to bind the hands of some poor girl.
My knees feel weak, and the liqueur I consumed churns violently in my belly.
“Peach.” He lifts my hand to his mouth and kisses the back of it. When his full, warm lips touch my skin, my body revolts and I draw my hand back.
“Don’t,” I warn him, my tone venomous.
“Do you two know each other?” Kirby asks, his confusion palpable.
“Quite well. Isn’t that right, Brielle?”
Hale is drunk. I’ve never seen him drink before, but his dilated pupils and the slight drawl to his voice is a dead giveaway.
“Don’t tell me she’s one of the mystery girls you’ve been fucking.” The shock painted across Kirby’s normally relaxed face is almost painful. I actually feel bad for him.
Hale doesn’t deny it, and my face turns bright red. I’m not having this conversation in front of Kirby. The look in Hale’s eyes says that he doesn’t give a shit what Kirby thinks. But I still do.
Kirby clenches his fists at his sides, fighting to maintain his composure since we’re in a professional work setting. “You’re a fucking asshole. You can have your pick of women in Chicago, anyone but Brielle. She’s like a little sister to me.”
Ouch.
Hale’s gaze swings over to me. “The truth stings, doesn’t it?” he says, his voice soft with a trace of compassion.
Well, fuck him, I don’t need his pity. I storm away from the two men, intent on getting the fuck out of here.
On my way toward the exit, Hale’s hand closes around mine and he tugs me down a hallway just past the hotel reception.
I yank my hand free from his grasp and spin to face him. “Did you know the entire time?” My heart is pounding and I feel sick and dizzy.
“Yes.”
“You live with Kirby. You work with him. And you listened to me whine about him for the past month. Why?”
“That first night I saw you. Fuck.” He releases a big exhale and pushes his hands into his hair. “I recognized you right away from a photograph in Kirby’s room. I considered walking out right then. I’ve never worked with a client who I had ties to in my personal life. But I decided to hear you out. You were beautiful. Shy. Nervous. And I wanted to help you.”
Hale grasps my arm, but when I look down to glare at his hand, he removes it. “Once we talked, I knew it was never about Kirby. I told you that in the beginning. This was about you. I wanted to help you build your confidence and understand your wants and needs. That was all. Then I was going to walk away. Let him have you, if that’s what you really wanted.”
His words make no sense.
“Why did you lie about your name?”
“I didn’t. It’s Cameron Hale. Close friends call me Hale, and when you assumed that was my first name, I didn’t correct you.”
“And the woman you’re buying a house with? Is she your…” The words die in my throat.
“Chrissy’s a friend. That’s all. We’ve shared scenes together at the club, but there was never any sexual contact between us.”
“Did you do that to her? The bruises?”
“Fucking hell. No!” he roars.
“I don’t really know you. How should I know what you’re capable of?” Planting my hands on my hips, I meet his dark, stormy eyes.
“The fact that you think I could hurt a woman like that…” His voice breaks, and he doesn’t continue.
“How am I supposed to know what to think?”
“You know more than you think you do.”
“What does that even mean?” I remember the whispered story I overheard in the ladies’ room, and what Kirby told me about Hale’s fiancée. Cameron, I remind myself. It’s going to be difficult to call him Cameron after thinking of him as Hale for so long. My hunches were right about him from the beginning. He was heartbroken, and that’s why he keeps his distance.