Page 92 of Angel

ANGEL

She was so close to telling me about me.

I’m a sick bastard because I was enjoying that way too much.

But I’m glad she told me. It settles my heart, and the way she reacted to Havoc earlier draws a line under it.

I have my reassurance, and this weekend is the beginning of something new. Sophie came to me for help. I wonder if she realizes she will never leave.

Sam’s yacht is nice enough, but my gaze swings past it, and I note with satisfaction my new pride and joy gleaming on its mooring.

Yes, money buys a lot of pleasure, and my boat is the biggest one in the marina.

Black, sleek and shiny, not a speck of dust or dirt on board. It could still be in the shrink wrap that brought it here because I have never spent any time on it.

I wish we were on there now; the engines firing up as we leave this place behind. A mini-cruise somewhere else, with nobody around us.

Sam’s yacht is nothing compared to mine, and even though Sophie doesn’t realize I own one, Sam undoubtedly will. He will hate knowing that, and I will enjoy every minute.

We step on board, walking up the small gangplank where a uniformed steward is waiting with a silver tray of drinks. Our luggage has been taken to our cabin—at least I hope that’s the singular version. This weekend, Sophie becomes my girlfriend. I am assured of that by her desire to tell me about Angel.

I don’t feel bad about deceiving her. My obsession with her goes back a long time, and I wonder what she would say if she knew the truth. I’m not talking about Angel now. The trouble is, this weekend may reveal more than I am willing and I must act strategically.

“Sophie.”

The booming voice of our host sends shivers of revulsion through me. I have never liked Sam Goodman. He has merely been a tool I used on occasion.

His sharp gaze lands on me, but he pushes it aside for now and takes her hand, kissing the back of it like the gentleman he most definitely is not.

“Sam.”

Her voice is like silk, caressing my skin, sending different shivers through me.

“Thank you so much for the invitation.”

He nods, a flicker of anger in his expression as he turns to me.

“You keep excellent company, Sophie. Congratulations on your plus-one.”

He attempts to demean me as another one of her lapdogs. We both know I couldn’t give a fuck what he thinks.

“Sam.”

I shake his hand, resisting the urge to wipe my hand when we finish. I always feel dirty when I deal with the producer. Although I use that term in every sense of the word. He may believe I’m here as a guest, a plus-one as he says. I am here in a different capacity that only Gabriel knows about.

“You have an amazing boat, Sam.”

Sophie is genuinely warm, and he beams under her praise.

“Isn’t she a beauty? I am extremely proud of her.”

He doesn’t look at me once.

I say nothing. I’m not impressed with anything this man owns or has done.

While he occupies Sophie’s attention, I gaze around at the other guests. Noting the usual faces I would expect to see at a gathering like this and a few I’m surprised at. One in particular. Emilio Martinez.

He is talking to a beautiful woman. His hand circling her waist and resting on her hip. She appears miserable as sin and as she glances my way, she smiles, desire flashing like lightning over to me. I’m aware I’m the youngest guy on the boat, excluding the crew. Most of the men here are older than us and all of them in similar poses.