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Glass in hand, I look around to see if there’s anyone worth talking to. Imagine my surprise when I see none other than Tobias Kline walking toward some Russian oil baron across the room. My very favorite Oakwood Boy. I cut him off before he makes the approach.
“Twice in one night,” I say, swirling my wine in its glass before taking a sip.
“Lucky me,” he mutters, glancing over to see the Russian signaling for his jacket.
“I saw you disappear with that curvy beauty you sniped from me at the auction. I thought you’d be out with her.” What the hell is he doing here after bidding five figures for a date with the woman? Come to think of it, what am I doing here?
An attendant approaches with his glass and he takes it, and then selects an Arturo Fuente cigar to go with it. I pull out my own butane lighter and hold it up for him.
Curiosity has me asking, “So, what happened with her?”
He ignores me, puffing on his cigar like an entitled prick.
I won’t let it go, though. “Keeping her in your back pocket, are you?”
“I was just doing a favor for a coworker,” he says.
“A ten thousand dollar favor?” I smile ruefully. “We both know that no Oakwood Boy does anything for free.”
“I didn’t know that girls like her were your type, anyway.”
My eyes narrow, thinking of Sloane. “I didn’t either until I saw her. I’m beginning to think I wouldn’t mind a little something to hold onto.” Let him think I’m talking about the woman at the date auction. He doesn’t need to know that Sloane is the woman consuming my thoughts.
I utilize my years of control at hiding my thoughts and pat him on the shoulder. “Let me know how it is, will you?”
“Not on your life.”
I laugh as I turn away, signaling the attendant to bring my jacket. It’s time to go home to my own woman. “See you later, old sport.”
When I arrive at the estate, the car I left for her is gone. Even still, I circle the main areas of the home, only admitting after searching for half an hour that she isn’t home. It’s quiet. Too quiet. And lonely. Trying not to be too morose, I walk the halls with a glass of scotch. Not getting drunk. Just trying to keep my thoughts occupied. I don’t want to think about Sloane, where she might be and who she might be with.
I’m walking past the doors to the library when I hear a tiny squeak. Freezing in place, I wait to see if I’ll hear it again. There. Another tiny squeak coming from within the library. Brow furrowed, I open the doors, only to stop in shock at the scene in front of me.
Three tiny kittens sit in a cage in the corner of my library. They stare at me, meowing like they’ve lost their mother. Which, I presume they have.
It doesn’t take long for the shock to dissipate. Sloane. She obviously hid these kittens in my library. Where else could they have come from?
I stalk toward the little devils as resolve fills me. If Sloane thinks she can get away with tricking me like this, she’s sadly mistaken.
