Isolde stared at her reflection in the gilded mirror of the hotel restroom. The black dress she had bought was too tight, too low-cut. It felt like a costume. She smoothed down the fabric, her stomach churning. She splashed cold water on her wrists, trying to calm the frantic beating of her heart.
She walked out, her heels sinking into the plush carpet. She stopped in front of the private dining room. The maître d' pulled the heavy wooden door open for her.
The room was thick with cigar smoke. Four men sat around a large round table, their laughter dying down as she entered. The silence stretched, heavy and uncomfortable.
A man with greasy hair and a cheap suit-Rudy Kowalski-was the first to move. He stood up, his eyes crawling over her body. "Well, well. Mrs. Ruiz. I have to say, Clark is a lucky man." He reached out and touched her bare arm. "Thanks for sacrificing your evening for us."
Isolde pulled her arm away, her skin crawling. "Where is the investor?"
Rudy grinned and pointed toward the head of the table. "Right there."
Isolde followed his finger. The man at the head of the table was sitting with his back to her, swirling a glass of amber liquid. As she watched, he slowly turned around.
The air left Isolde's lungs.
The sharp jaw. The dark, piercing eyes. The cedar scent that suddenly overpowered the smell of cigars. It was him. The man from the club. The man she had mistaken for an escort.
Rudy was oblivious to her shock. "Mr. Valdez, this is Isolde Ruiz. She's here to make sure we have a very enjoyable evening."
Jacques Valdez. The CEO of the Valdez Group. One of the most powerful men in the country. And she had tried to hire him for sex. The legendary Jacques Valdez was notoriously private, never giving interviews, his face never gracing the covers of financial magazines-only blurry, years-old silhouettes circulated online. She had never imagined she would meet him in the flesh, let alone in a dark hotel room.
Jacques didn't speak. He simply looked at her, his gaze unreadable. He leaned back in his chair, his long fingers tapping against the table. "Are you here to entertain us, Mrs. Ruiz?"
Isolde opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She thought of Bria. She thought of Clark's threat. She forced herself to nod.
Rudy took that as his cue. He grabbed a bottle of vodka from the table and poured a generous amount into a shot glass. "Let's start with a toast! Three shots to our new partnership!"
He shoved the glass toward her. Isolde looked at the clear liquid. She couldn't drink. She never drank. The smell alone made her head spin.
"Come on, don't be shy!" Rudy urged, his face flushed. He reached out as if to force the glass to her lips.
Isolde closed her eyes, bracing herself for the burn.
Click.
The sharp sound of a lighter snapping shut cut through the room. Isolde's eyes flew open. Jacques was holding a thick Cuban cigar, the flame just extinguished. He looked at Rudy, his expression flat.
"She's not drinking that." Jacques's voice was quiet, but it carried the weight of a command.
Rudy blinked. "But Mr. Valdez, it's just a little-"
"Come here." Jacques looked at Isolde, ignoring Rudy entirely. He held out a gold lighter. "Light this for me."
Isolde hesitated. The men around the table exchanged confused glances. But the look in Jacques's eyes left no room for argument. She walked around the table, her legs unsteady. She took the lighter from him.
She leaned in, striking the flame. It flickered to life, illuminating Jacques's face. He was close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his skin. His eyes locked onto hers, the flame reflecting in their dark depths.
"Nice to see you again, little liar." he murmured, his voice so low only she could hear.
Isolde's hand jerked. The lighter slipped, but Jacques caught it, his hand closing over hers. His grip was firm, his skin hot. He held her gaze for a long moment, then guided the flame to the tip of his cigar.
He took a slow drag, then exhaled a cloud of smoke directly into her face. Isolde coughed, stepping back. He released her hand, his eyes never leaving her face.
"You can go back to your corner now." he said, his voice returning to its normal volume.
Isolde retreated, her heart pounding against her ribs. Little liar. He knew. He knew she had lied at the club. And he was playing with her.
The dinner dragged on. Isolde sat in silence, picking at her food. Every time she looked up, Jacques was watching her. His gaze was heavy, assessing. It made her feel like a piece of meat on a slab.
Rudy, emboldened by the alcohol, tried to pour her another drink. Jacques interrupted him. "Mr. Kowalski, I believe the structural report for the Hudson project is incomplete. Explain the discrepancy in the load-bearing calculations."
Rudy paled, scrambling for his documents. Isolde took the opportunity to slip out of her chair.
"I need the restroom." she mumbled, not waiting for a response.
She fled the room, her heels clicking rapidly down the hallway. She needed air. She needed to think. She needed to figure out how she was going to get out of this nightmare.
