attention, when the air is broken by a harsh sound.
A man clearing his throat at the doorway draws everyone’s attention, and you can feel the cold freeze rush through the space as we take in the man standing there now.
Nathan Stone.
He’s gorgeous, and I wonder if Claire purposefully showed me bad pictures of him and Caleb. Because standing in front of me isn’t a man but a fucking god.
He’s tall, broad-shouldered in his double-breasted worsted wool suit, but tapered in a way that tells me the wool covers lean muscles.
His hair is much darker than his brother’s, dark brown but bordering just on black, and I vaguely wonder if it’s because he spends more time indoors or if his brother’s is highlighted.
Nathan reminds me of an Old Hollywood movie star, a handsome mix of Robert Redford and Marlon Brando with a new-age twist of Henry Cavill all rolled into one.
I think tabloids would call him dashing, but when his piercing blue eyes land on Caleb, who has jauntily thrown his arm around a redhead, any guise of softness is obliterated.
He barks, “Don’t scare them off with your theatrics before the party. No games tonight, despite your not agreeing with this.”
Hmm, that is interesting and maybe something I can use. This is Nathan’s party and Caleb doesn’t want to do this. Then again, maybe I should have figured that out from his clothes.
I get it.
Been there, done that, man, and it seems he’s being instructed to suck it up and take one for the team the same way I have dozens of times. Maybe I can use that to get in with Caleb or to connect with Nathan, if possible.
Either way, it’s an opportunity to get information for Claire.
Caleb whines in an over-exaggerated voice, “Aww man, the party was just getting started. Don’t ruin our fun.” His last words are to the redhead beside him, but she along with everyone else is giving Nathan her undivided attention.
Ouch, that’s gotta sting. But before I can make any idioms, Nathan’s eyes pass over each of us, and he speaks again.
“You are here to do a job. Be hostesses at my party. Be entertaining and beguiling. No sexual favors are expected, and in fact, I prefer that you not use my party as a hunting ground.”
My eyes narrow at his tone, which borders on disrespectful, like he assumes these women are considering just that.
Then again, I had the same thought when I walked in, so I can’t fault him too much, but I’d never say it aloud.
He continues on his curt speech, like he’s done this dozens of times before, pacing the room and circling us like a wolf eyeing a pack of tasty sheep. I’ve never felt more like prey.
I’d thought Mr. Prescott’s gaze had been penetrating as he evaluated me, but it was nothing compared to Nathan Stone’s.
“Line up,” he says, and though we all shuffle to follow his order, inside I’m chomping at the bit to tell him that this isn’t a cattle call.
He approaches the first girl, the redhead Caleb had been hanging on, and he takes her in, from toes to frosted tips.
“Name?” She answers, confidently telling him but crumbling slightly when he responds, “You are not to speak to my brother again tonight.”
He continues down the line, asking each girl their name, complimenting some and correcting others. My eyes widen as he tells one hostess, “Remove the pads from your bra. This isn’t a strip club.”
Mr. Prescott trails along behind Nathan, holding out his hand to the hostess and taking the pads with a promise that they’ll be waiting for her at the end of the night.
When he finally gets to me, he pauses, gazing into my eyes. I see his eyes narrow, the faintest of crow’s feet lines popping at the sides of his eyes as he stares me down. I have a moment of utter fear, certain that he knows I’m here under false pretenses because his gaze is like the eye of Sauron. It sees everything. He must also see the terror in my eyes, but he smiles, as if he likes that I’m afraid of him.
“What’s your name?”
“Kitty. Kitty Williamson, sir.” I say it with certainty and pride, though I don’t know why I added the ‘sir’ to the end. It just slipped off my tongue. But at his raised eyebrow of approval, I think I made the right move.
“Kitty? And does the kitten have claws?” he asks darkly.