Gramercy Nights (The Argo Press Trilogy Book 1) (32 page)

“What are doing here, then?”

“Are you mad? I never miss a party.” But his cocky, devil-may-care smile doesn’t reach his eyes and when he finally looks at me, he must notice me shiver because he shrugs off his jacket and slides it around my shoulders. The jacket smells undeniably of masculine: leather and sweat and smoke. “Anyway, I thought Sebastian would appreciate it if I told him I’m signing the deal in person.”

“Really?”

He shrugs. “He’s family. Or about as close to family as either of us really has.”

“You were going to sign with him all along, weren’t you?”

“Perceptive little thing, aren’t you?” Malcolm laughs. “I just like pushing his buttons sometimes. He needs his balls busted occasionally. The man is much too accustomed to getting his own way.”

Isn’t that the truth, I think ruefully. Instead, I ask what happened between the two of them.

Malcolm’s expression darkens momentarily. “We both made some pretty stupid mistakes,” he says, shrugging his shoulders. “You should ask him. It’s really not my story to tell. Enough about me. Tell me something about you. Anything.”

“I’m a translator.”

“Of course you are,” he says. “Knew you had to be more than a pretty face if Seba was willing to bring you around.”

I tell him a little about what I’m working on, surprised at how easy it is to talk to Malcolm now that we’re alone. He seems so imposing at first glance. Maybe it’s the bad boy reputation or the tattoos or that fact that I’ve read all his books, but he’s remarkably gracious.

“That explains it,” he says, crushing his cigarette out under his scuffed motorcycle boot.

“Explains what?” I ask him in confusion.

He shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter. This old man needs a drink. Shall we?”

When I start taking off his jacket, he places his large hand on my shoulder, stopping me. “Keep it. It suits you.”

Sebastian is nowhere to be found when we go back inside and I have to remind myself that he’s working. And that there’s no way he’s off with Ada. Because he wouldn’t do that.

Malcolm returns from the bar with two glasses of champagne. “You look so lost.”

“This isn’t really my scene,” I answer with what I can only hope is a casual shrug. I don’t really want Malcolm Renault, of all people, to realize just how difficult I find these things. Or just how uncertain my relationship with Sebastian is. But Malcolm seems to see right through me.

“You don’t say.” He laughs.

“Shouldn’t you be out there, mingling?” I huff, trying to shift the focus away from me.

Malcolm rolls his eyes. “No one worth talking to. Except you, of course,” he adds, tipping his head in my direction. I make a face. I don’t know why he’s being so nice to me, but it sure beats standing alone in the corner. Or waiting in the room for Sebastian to come back. “Anyway, Seba’s the only person I need to speak to while I’m here and I’m sure I’ll catch him later.”

“You haven’t told him yet?”

“Haven’t gotten the chance. And there’s nothing wrong with a healthy dose of anticipation, to make things more interesting.”

“What’s up with you and Megan Thomas?” I ask, curiosity getting the best of me.

Malcolm’s blue eyes narrow. “Why, what did she say?”

“Nothing really.” I shrug. “I just got the impression she’s not your biggest fan.”

“I may or may not have slept with her girlfriend a while back.”

“You what?”

“Oh, you don’t have to look at me like that,” he says crossly. “Obviously, I wouldn’t have done it had I known.”

“Obviously.” My voice is heavily laced with sarcasm. Something tells me Malcolm Renault isn’t bothered by pesky societal conventions like, one must not sleep with someone in a relationship.

He laughs. “Fine, maybe I would have. But to be fair, I really had no idea. The little minx threw herself at me.”

“And I’m sure you hated every second of it.”             

Malcolm’s eyes glitter mischievously. He leans in, his warm breath washing over my ear as he whispers, “I never said that.”

I roll my eyes. Malcolm Renault is pure sex. And he knows it. To a man like Malcolm Renault, flirting must come as easy as breathing. And I’m sure he’s used to getting anything and everything with little more than a cocky smile.

Malcolm plucks the glass from my hand and sets it down on a nearby table. “I’m starved. Fancy something to eat?”

I take one more look around the room, searching for Sebastian, but I don’t see him anywhere and when I look back at Malcolm, I can see the sympathy in his eyes and maybe just a hint of the devil.

“Let’s go.”

We find a brightly lit kebab shop close to the hotel. Malcolm tells me to get a seat while he orders and when I offer to pay, he looks at me in disgust.

“If I see that wallet again, I’m going to be pissed. Sit down and be a good girl,” he says sternly.

I have to admit, it’s nice being somewhere normal for a change. Somewhere I might actually go if I weren’t with Sebastian. The food is delicious. Greasy, meaty, wonderful. It’s exactly what I needed.

Malcolm is telling me about growing up in London, and I’m fascinated. I want to know everything about Malcolm and Sebastian’s childhood. About what they were like growing up. And since Sebastian isn’t the most forthcoming about the past, I figure I may as well take advantage of Malcolm’s loose lips.

“We were brothers. In London, we were inseparable. And at school, we reminded each other that there was a world outside those tall gates. Poor little rich kids nobody loved. Throw money at the problem and hope it goes away. Only problem was, neither of us was content with that.”

A sharp ringing interrupts and Malcolm looks at me expectantly. When I just stare back in confusion, he chuckles. “Love, I think you should probably answer that.”

Only then do I remember the phone Sebastian gave me earlier.

I let out a string of curses as I fish through my bag, fully aware that Malcolm is laughing at me.

“How the fuck do you work this thing?” I’m grumbling, trying to put a stop to the dreaded noise. Laughing, Malcolm plucks the phone from my hand.

“Danielle’s phone,” he answers brightly. He pauses, frowning. “I was wondering when we’d hear from you. Don’t worry. We’ve just finished eating. Here.” He hands the phone back to me.

“Danielle.” The rich sound of Sebastian’s voice makes my whole body brighten with awareness and I find I’m sitting up a little straighter.

“Hey,” I whisper, suddenly embarrassed by Malcolm’s watchful gaze.

Sebastian sighs heavily. I can hear muffled voices in the background. He must be standing out on the patio. “Why did you leave without telling me? You could have just called.”

I can hear the hurt in his voice and wonder if it has anything to do with the man sitting across the table from me. Probably. Though Malcolm has been nothing but courteous all night. I find myself apologizing even though I know I did nothing wrong.

“Should I come get you?” he asks finally.

“It’s only a few blocks, I think I can manage.”

“Okay,” he pauses and I imagine he’s running a hand through his hair the way he does when something’s troubling him. “Will you put Malcolm back on for a sec?” I hand Malcolm the phone. I can’t make out what Sebastian’s saying and Malcolm just keeps nodding his head until he finally says, “Sure, got it,” and hangs up.

“You seriously don’t know how to use an iPhone?”

“Why does everyone keep saying that?”

“You’re a strange bird, you know that? Let’s get out of here. Seba’s going to pitch a fit if I don’t get you back to the hotel.”

Maybe it’s the champagne or the fact that Sebastian has all but ordered me back to the hotel after ignoring me all evening, or seeing Sebastian with Ava earlier, but I’m not ready to go. Plus, I’m actually enjoying Malcolm’s company, which is something I never thought I’d say. I know it’s a mistake, but sometimes a girl just wants to play with fire, even when she knows she’ll end up getting burned.

“How about one last drink?”

Malcolm bursts out laughing. “I think I’m starting to like you.”

“What, and you didn’t before?”

“I was instructed that under no circumstances am I to take you to the Grand.”

“So the Grand it is?”

“The Grand it is.”

Techno pours through the speakers, the bass vibrating through my chest as we snake through the dimly lit lounge towards the long, mirror topped bar. Bottles glow in the plum-colored lights behind the bar and I take a seat on one of the white leather stools. The Grand screams sex and money, from the white leather banquets lining the room to the rich, wine-colored LED lights. Shadows bathe the corners, perfect for creating the illusion of privacy. Two women in short, sequined dresses lean next to a floor to ceiling mirror, their bodies angled towards the door like they’re waiting for someone. The one with the pixie cut and the blood red lips looks Malcolm up and down, her eyes wide and appreciative. When she catches me watching her, I expect her to turn away, but to my surprise, her eyes never waver from mine. She tilts her head to the side, letting her painted lips part in an unspoken invitation.

Something about the way she’s watching me makes me look away self-consciously.

When I turn back to Malcolm, he’s smirking at me and there’s something in his knowing expression that tells me I haven’t gotten the joke. I look around, letting my eyes adjust to the dim lighting. Women. That’s what I notice. They’re all wearing skimpy dresses and fuck-me heels. And they’re all waiting. I catch the way several of them look at Malcolm. Hungry. Calculated. I can tell you one thing, it’s not lust I see in their expressions.

I look at Malcolm sharply. “Please tell me this isn’t what I think this is,” I shout over the pounding bass.

Malcolm gives me an innocent look. “And what do you think this is?”

“A brothel.”

Malcolm grins rakishly, brushing a lock of blonde hair out of his eyes and I know I’m right. “Come on, let’s get you that drink before you start with the judgment.”

“Judgment? You brought me to a brothel!” I let out an exasperated sigh. “No wonder Sebastian didn’t want you taking me here,” I scream back. There’s absolutely no doubt in my mind that Sebastian will freak when he finds out where I am. I may not know the whole story between Sebastian and Malcolm, but I know enough about Malcolm to know why Sebastian might be a little reluctant to trust him completely.

The bartender sees Malcolm and he gives him a nod. “The usual?”

“Good God,” I scream, “how often do you come here?”

“Enough.” Given Malcolm’s reputation, I don’t know why I’m even surprised. His books have more than a few casual references to brothels. But somehow, I’d always imagined that was more wishful thinking than reality.

The bartender reappears with a bottle of chilled champagne and a bucket of ice.

Malcolm holds out his hand while the bartender pours us each a drink. “I need your phone.”

“Why?”

“I need to tell Seba where we are. I’d rather not end up in casualty with a broken nose. Once is plenty.” He hands me a glass. “To breaking all the rules.”

“Sebastian broke your nose?” I ask, ignoring the champagne in my hand. I suppose if I look close enough, there is a slight bump in his nose. Still, Sebastian doesn’t strike me as the type to lose control.

“It’s a long story,” Malcolm answers flatly, “certainly not worth repeating.”

“Um, I highly doubt that.”

“Ask your boyfriend about it someday,” he says finally. I sigh in frustration and hand Malcolm my phone, watching as he quickly types.

Malcolm screams over the loud music for a whiskey and pulls me down from my stool. “Come on, let’s give you the grand tour before Seba swoops in and takes you back to the ivory tower.” He turns back to the bartender. “Have Bettina bring the bottle to the back.”

The bass and low lighting make me feel like I’m in a movie. Because that’s the closest I ever imagined I’d get to a brothel. Movies and books. But the Grand is classier than I would have imagined. It doesn’t feel seedy or exploitative. In fact, it feels more like the lobby of a luxury hotel than anything else. Malcolm snakes through the lounge, past a group of women fawning over two older businessmen in suits. Watching them, I have to remind myself they are prostitutes. Malcolm’s eyes trail appreciatively over their bodies, and I give him a playful shove. How the hell did I end up in a brothel in Germany with Malcolm Renault of all people?

I follow him down a narrow corridor lined in crimson wallpaper, the music fading into the background. My ears are still ringing and I wonder where we’re going. Maybe a room with a stripper pole or burlesque dancers on a stage?

Instead, we step through an open door at the end of the hallway into a subdued game room decorated in forest green and well-worn leather. There’s a pool table and several empty card tables. A portly man with tufts of hair poking out of the top of his unbuttoned oxford puffs on a cigar as he plays chess with a beautiful woman whose chestnut hair cascades over her bare shoulders. It takes me a full second to realize she’s topless. The man nods in Malcolm’s direction before turning his attention back to the figures on the chessboard.