Page 63 of Our Chaotic Love Affair

“Absolutely. Ready to make the rounds?”

“I am.”

He moved me around the room.

“My fiancée,” he said each time he introduced me. I loved that he made that title sound like he was introducing the queen. It often garnered the same reaction.

I watched the women reassess their snap judgments of me when he said it. Watched them look at me differently. Not warmly by any means. But as competition. Women that looked like they did never saw me as competition. Hell, they never saw me at all. Now they were rethinking everything they thought they knew about what men wanted.

It helped. I hated that it helped. I didn’t particularly want his endorsement to shape who they thought I was. But I also understood it was the game. I had agreed to play it. Tonight, my identity was Cleo the Fiancée. Not Cleo Quinn. Not Cyclone Cleo as Cash so fondly referred to me.

I imagined myself playing a role in a multi-million-dollar film. I channeled Grace Kelly, Julia Roberts, and Marilyn Monroe.

I smiled. Shook hands. Allowed men to brush their lips across my knuckles or in some cases, my cheek. It was a little gross and I made a mental reminder to wash my face very well when we got back to the hotel.

After we made our rounds, Cash pulled out my chair at our table, which was front and center in the way that significant guests got seated. I sat down and found myself across from Federico Rossi and the woman I assumed was his wife.

She was extraordinary looking. Strong bone structure, silver-streaked hair worn in a French twist. She had the kind of face that had probably stopped rooms for forty years and was still doing so. A retired model, I remembered Cash saying. She was absolutely gorgeous and I wasn’t picking up on any fillers or other enhancements. Few people were born with such timeless beauty. Angelica Rossi was one of the lucky ones.

She was also looking at Cash with an interest that was only barely within the boundaries of what the social context permitted.

Rude. If he was actually my fiancé, I might think about stabbing my fork in her eye. Since he wasn’t mine to be jealous over, I only wanted to slap that sultry smile off her face, not maim her for life.

“This is my fiancée,” Cash said to the table. “Cleo.”

“Charming.” Rossi’s eyes moved over me with the quick assessment of someone who’d decided the outcome before starting. “You’re American.”

The word sounded like a slur.

“Through and through,” I said, and smiled like it was the best thing either of us had said all evening.

The table conversation was elaborate cover for two men doing something else entirely. Cash was smooth about it. He was working questions into perfectly natural discussion. I liked watching him. He was patient and strategic. Rossi was equally smooth about not answering any of it. It was like watching the tango. Soon, they were going to be pulling out their dicks to see whose was bigger.

My money was on Cash.

“The Bancroft contract has served you well for years,” Cash said, with no idea what part of him I was thinking about.

“It has served both of us. Mutually beneficial, as these things go,” Rossi replied.

“And yet…”

Rossi lifted his wine glass. “Business evolves.”

Cash’s jaw clenched. Usually I was the one that brought out that muscle and the vein throbbing on the side of his forehead. It meant he was managing frustration.

“This turnout happened because of the Bancroft name attached to this event. You’re aware that without us you lack the power you need.”

“I’m aware of the value you added,” Rossi said, with the tone of a man acknowledging a minor contribution. “It will take more than a pleasant party to address my concerns, Mr. Bancroft. I hope you understand.”

The feathers were ruffled. I could see it in the slight tightening around Rossi’s eyes. He’d sat back to put distance between him and Cash. Cash held his expression perfectly.

And then Angelica touched her husband’s arm. There was no affection. It was the touch you would use when you’re trying to get by someone on the subway platform. “Excuse me, I must powder my nose.”

I gave it four seconds.

“Excuse me as well,” I said and followed her.

The restroom was mostly marble with brass fixtures. It smelled like too much perfume but also something minty. Angelica was already at the mirror, lipstick out, her reflection watching my entrance with cool appraisal.