Page 33 of The Devil of Downtown

I assume she’s talking about Maria, who’s resplendent in green velvet, wearing a matching smile to Dane—one that doesn’t touch their eyes. But then Felicity turns to me, eyes wide and appraising, and I’m not sure how I feel about being described as alovely creature.

“Yes,” Dane says, a faint smile ghosting over his mouth. “She’s mine—but not in the way you think. She’s my assistant.”

Something in his voice makes me wince.Mineburns for half a second, then the rest of the sentence snuffs it out. Whatever I thought I saw in him earlier—the man who waded into the pool after me—is gone. In his place stands the Dane everyone else knows: calculated, impenetrable, walls so high it would take a lifetime to scale them.

“Oh!” Felicity’s smile widens. “Pretty one, isn’t she? I bet a lovely young thing like you has a boyfriend waiting at home?”

Hell, of all the things I thought I’d have to talk about tonight, my relationship status wasn’t on my bingo card.

I pause too long, and I feel Dane stiffen beside me.

“I’m kind of busy,” I manage, forcing out a laugh.

Felicity chuckles. “How sensible. Well, come in, come in! Please have a drink.”

She clicks her fingers, and a server appears as if conjured, balancing a tray of champagne flutes.

We follow her into the drawing room—a grand space with towering windows dressed in velvet drapes. A fire crackles in a traditional stone hearth, throwing a golden wash over oil portraits that glare down from the walls.

Around us, politicians, financiers, and media moguls circle like well-fed hawks, trading favors and pretending to laugh.

Maria is already gliding towards them, her smile switching gears effortlessly as she begins what looks like a round of charm warfare.

“Dane, darling, you must meet my daughter, Isabel,” Felicity says, beaming, gesturing towards a young, blonde woman dressed in something silver that clings in all the right places.

Now it makes sense why she asked if I was his; she was checking whether he is available.

Dane greets her with the effortless charm he slips into so easily, planting a light kiss on her cheek. Isabel blushes, her eyes lighting up like her mother just delivered her the coveted toy at the top of her Santa list. She glows under his attention, all bright eyes and soft laughter. I fidget in my black satin skirt that flares over my hips, smoothing it down, suddenly self-conscious. I paired it with a long-sleeved lace bodice from Sloane’s elegant wardrobe that scoops low at the back. It’s sexy but understated, although the price tag is not even close to the outfits on display tonight. At least my Chanel red lipstick is expensive; no one needs to know it was a free sample.

I take a swig of champagne, nearly choking as a tall, blond man with bloodshot eyes and reeking of whiskey sidles up beside me, a little too close.

“You’re...” He squints, pointing. “Iknowyou.”

My pulse skips. “I don’t think so,” I say a fraction too fast. “I’m Sloane.”

He tilts his head, studying me as if he’s piecing something together.

“Really?” His mouth curls. “Thought we’d met before.”

My laugh comes out thin. “Pretty sure I’d remember.”

For a second—one long, awful second—I think he’s going to sayIvy.My stomach twists tight.

Then the grin returns, sleazy and satisfied. “Guess not. You’d be hard to forget.”

Before I can step away, Felicity’s voice cuts through the hum of chatter, her tone full of charm with a faint tremor underneath.

“You’ve all met my son, Hugo?” she says, a brittle smile pinning him in place.

Hugo barely spares her a glance. “Sloane. Pretty name. Hey, did we match on Tinder?” His gaze drags over me like oil, leaving my skin crawling.

Jesus Christ, what is it with this family and my dating status?

I’m so on edge, convinced that by some million-to-one chance Hugo’s about to recognize me; it’s almost a relief when Isabel loops her arm through Dane’s and steers him toward the bar, giggling something about another drink. Dane glances back as he goes, a flicker of warning in his eyes before the mask snaps back into place.

Beside me, Hugo smirks. “So, Sloane. What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?”

He leans in close, fingers grazing my arm, the touch deliberate, testing. I step back, but that only makes him grin wider.