Page 112 of Sinful Secrets

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Page 112 of Sinful Secrets

I get in my car and follow her downtown. I circle the club before driving a couple of blocks away. Finding a public parking lot with two entrances, I park and change into my heels.

I leave everything in my car before walking toward the club. While stopped at a red light, a man in a bright red sports car rolls his window down and whistles. I turn around and glare at him.

Who in their right mind whistles at a woman in the middle of the day? Does he think I’m a prostitute?

Oh God, he does. That’s why he’s whistling at me.

I glance down at my dress and modest three-inch heels. It’s not too revealing.

“Ignore him.” Francesca says before flipping the guy off. “He’s an asshole. There will be more like him at the party.”

She’s wearing a chestnut brown wig with blonde highlights. It’s just different enough for me to have to do a double take, so people who don’t really know her won’t be able to point her out.

At least I hope.

Groaning, I ask, “Why did I let you convince me to do this?”

“Because you are a great friend and didn’t want me to do this alone?”

I smile and nod. “Yeah, remember that when the guys come home tonight and find out what we did today and threaten to lock us up in a tower.”

She loops her arm in mine. “Hey, that could be fun. I enjoy being tied up.”

So did I.

My face blushes.

“Oh my God. You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”

Of course I am. It opened up a new side of me, and Spencer loved it.

I roll my eyes. “Come on, we can’t be late. We need to blend in.”

We walk through the back door of the club where we are immediately given a waist apron and a tray of champagne and told to circulate.

The club kitchen is covered in stainless steel counters and appliances. There are four cooks prepping food trays and a handful of waitresses dressed in very similar dresses.

No one speaks to one another. It’s almost as if they were told to be seen and not heard. That’s fine with me because it will give me more of a chance to listen to the people that matter.

Francesca gives me a look before heading in the opposite direction.

I balance my tray and head directly toward the center of the party. Several men in business suits stop me to grab a flute of champagne before continuing their conversation about stocks and bonds.

Boring and not what we are here for.

I continue through the center of the party. Men and women alike grab drinks. When my tray is empty, I head back to the kitchen for another.

I deliver tray after tray of champagne without learning anything new.

Unless you count learning that the mayor has been getting cutbacks from several companies, including Arturo’s shipping business.

“Great work.” A man in a suit says as I reach for a hors d’oeuvre tray.

I turn around and look at the man, coming face to face with a set of emerald green eyes. The same shade of eyes that threatened Spencer while we were eating at Mario’s.

Is he a member of the Reapers? It would be a hell of a coincidence that an outsider has the same unique shade of eyes.

A gasp gets stuck in my throat.