Page 53 of The Devil of Downtown

The bar is too loud, the lights too bright, but I let him order shots of tequila because it’s easier than explaining the chaos in my chest.

“To old times,” he says, clinking his glass against mine.

I force a smile, tip the liquid back, and let the burn sear away the taste of Dane’s voice in my ear. Brody keeps refilling the glasses, his hand finding my waist, his words tumbling so fast they melt into the background.

He’s in full Brody mode: the endless compliments, the plans he makes without asking, the laughter that leaves no space for silence. It’s supposed to be flattering, I think. It used to be.

At some point, Sloane reappears with Jennie in tow, her smile tight. “Hey, are you ok?” she asks, glancing at Brody. Sloane could always read my mind.

I nod and keep drinking. Until the noise dulls. Although, even as I lean into the false sense of safety of Brody back by my side, I know exactly who I’m trying not to think about.

The man who makes me feel more alive than I should, and who’s already made it clear I’m nothing more than a game he intends to win.

Chapter fourteen

Dane

“This is ridiculous,” Charlotte grumbles, tapping her French manicure on the pristine white linen. “They said eight, and it’s already nine. I’ve got a meeting first thing.”

“Haven’t we all,” Julian yawns, already halfway to tipsy. He’s polished off most of the wine bottle; my glass sits untouched. Charlotte sips mineral water like she’s trying to dilute the night.

“Maybe he’s busy consoling the intern again,” Julian drawls, tracing lazy patterns on the tablecloth with his butter knife. “Public service is exhausting.”

“Julian!” Charlotte chokes on a mouthful of water, descending into a coughing fit. I slap her back to make sure she’s okay and keep one ear on a conference call with an investor in Dubai.

It would be funny if it weren’t half-true. Dad met Mitzy at the office. Or rather, she appeared there one day and never quite left. A junior staffer at first. Too young. Too eager. Too present, far too soon after the funeral. Rumor has it she’s skilled with her tongue. She must be if Dad put a ring on it. I don’t want to knowhow she convinced him. No doubt she has enough dirt on him to bury him ten times over.

It’s ironic, really. Dad’s obsessed with his image, but he’s made a career out of silencing scandals. If it were down to talent alone, he wouldn’t have made it past city council.

Despite their impending nuptials, Mitzy makes it painfully clear to everyone but my father that it’s me she really wants. I catch her watching me constantly—openly—like she’s already undressed me in her head. And whenever she gets close, she makes sure I feel her: brushing against me, backing into my space, pressing in where there’s no excuse for it.

I’ve never been remotely interested. She’s gorgeous, sure. But beneath the gloss and implants, she’s pure rot.

“Sweet Jesus,” Julian whistles under his breath. I can’t tell if he’s disgusted or impressed as Dad strides in with Mitzy, her top so low cut, you’d think her tits were on tonight’s menu.

Her gaze locks on me instantly, with that twisted little smirk playing at her lips. I hold it, expression flat, as I finish my call. She totters over on what must be six-inch heels.

Dad, predictably, makes a scene out of greeting Charlotte—his precious princess. Julian gets a stiff pat on the shoulder. I get the usual firm handshake, quick and cold. We’ve never been close. He’s always seen me as competition—the firstborn who stole my mother’s attention before he started seeking it elsewhere. Only weak men are threatened by their sons.

Mitzy, on the other hand, greets me like a bad habit she can’t quit. Her hug lingers too long, her hand sliding dangerously close to my ass before I step back.

As soon as we’re seated, I signal the server. The sooner this charade is over, the better.

“We missed you the other day,” Dad says, taking first aim, disapproval carved into every word.

I raise a brow. “I doubt you missed me,” I reply dryly. What he means is that he hates when he can’t control the narrative.

“Dane had just got back from London,” Charlotte cuts in. She’s always my fiercest defender, even though I don’t need her to be. But of course, it goes both ways. If anyone ever came for her, I’d kill them with a smile on my face.

“Since when has a business trip to London made you incapable of attending a simple dinner?” Dad goes on.

I grit my teeth, willing myself to get through the evening. Between Dad’s sniping and Mitzy’s unwanted attention, I’m just about ready to slip out the side exit.

We’re barely through the starters, and Mitzy’s leg has brushed mine so many times I’ve lost count. Julian’s slurring, Charlotte’s fidgeting, and Dad’s laying out his exhaustive engagement-party plan like it’s a NATO briefing.

“The engagement party,” he crows, leaning forward like he’s addressing a press conference. “It’ll be at the Langford Estate. Guest list’s already finalized—governors, donors, and a few key members of the press. Optics matter. The world needs to see a unified front. No surprises, no scenes.”

My jaw tightens.Optics matter.That’s his gospel. Everything’s a show—the speeches, the marriage, even this dinner.