Page 9 of All Mixed Up

“Good,” I retorted. “Keep it that way.” I’d left behind my childhood as soon as Mom and I entered the hospital for her first chemotherapy appointment—karma’s payback for all the years I’d yearned to be older than I was. Careful what you wish for. I’d accepted the punch with dignity and hadn’t whined about it. The last thing I needed was anyone else doing the same.

“I just keep telling myself she’s at least five years older.” There was a hint of snark in Gigi’s tone, but not enough to categorize it as a full jibe. “At least right now.”

I flung a perplexed glower. “At least right now? And why is—”

“Yeah,” Leese cut in. “Darn good strategy.”

“Good strategy for what?” I echoed, throwing my stare around. “And why right now?”

“I’m in,” Leese muttered. “Good plan.”

“Oh, for the love of—” I cut myself short as soon as Milo surged forward by a firm step, though tilted his sights back at his wife, as if seeking her vote of approval for whatever his next move was. “Why is everyone acting so weird?” Afraid of calling my boss out in front of the whole crowd, I took care to turn it into an all-inclusive demand. Besides, they all deserved to be accountable for it anyway.

I didn’t have to wait long for my answer.

Which was probably a good thing—though I still had no way of really knowing. Still, as soon as Arista ticked out a tight but approving nod at Milo, I again found myself the focus of his twinkling gaze—and anticipating grin.

“Because there’s someone here who really wants to meet you,” he finally explained. “A…friend of mine. Maybe a little more than a friend. He’s a leading businessman in the city, and has been one of the main reasons we got this club up and running. So you can understand why I feel indebted to indulge him an introduction to you.”

“So indulge him.” I shrugged and tilted my glass. “You’re plying me with the expensive stuff, after all.”

Though Milo laughed, his relatives didn’t. Finally, Arista stepped forward, seemingly nominated as their given spokesperson. Her gorgeous gold shoes glittered with her confident steps. “Only a meeting.” She said it as if to warn me as much as Milo. “Ten minutes. In public.”

“Is this public enough?”

Inside a second, I knew the words hadn’t come from Milo—or from any other man I’d seen in the room so far. This was a new resonance on the air. A new power on the very axis of the earth. And definitely a new pull on the very energy on my body. It was uniquely, exquisitely tuned in to the unique frequency of me…

Holy. Wow.

So was this how wolves caught their prey?

For this was how I longed to die.

How everything I’d been, up to this singular moment, fell like corpses on a battlefield. Casualties of a victory I couldn’t understand, let alone accept. How could I, when everything about my reality was suddenly rewritten, refocused, retuned…

For him.

“Juliette Darienne, I’d like to introduce my friend and colleague, Lucien Paget.”

My mind stopped. My muscles went numb. The glass of bubbling liquid slipped from my fingers.

Right into his.

Those lips, so carnal but cruel, quirked just a little before he lowered them over the back of my hand. “Enchanté, mademoiselle.” Translation: I won’t tell anyone you can’t move because of me, if you don’t.

“It’s…you.” The words were gossamer threads on my tongue. “I—”

“You,” he filled in, voice as smooth as the velvet in his gaze, “are very talented at what you do.”

“She’s also very valued here, Monsieur Paget.” Arista’s clipped tone betrayed her truth: that the formality was only a courtesy to her husband. “It’s her first time in Paris, so we’re all making sure she’s having a pleasurable and safe experience.”

I wouldn’t have been surprised if everyone on the dance floor recognized her punch on “and safe.” The only person in the building who hadn’t gone past “pleasurable” was clearly Paget himself, who continued as if she’d just chatted up someone else in the room.

“I was already impressed during your rehearsal the other afternoon. The set-up for the bass drop was…exquisite.”

I held back on a full laugh—I was a DJ, not an opera singer—but couldn’t resist the chance after the first half of his declaration. “You were here.” Which meant I hadn’t been going completely crazy. The sheer relief of it made sure a smile continued on my lips after the laugh.

“Just for a bit.” His fingers lingered, their tips cupping my own. “But I was called away to another meeting.” He sounded so sorrowful, his accent intensifying the effect. It wasn’t completely French but I couldn’t place the other inflections. “But now, I am glad for it. I was compelled to come back for more tonight.”