Page 54 of The Devil of Downtown

Mitzy beams beside him, fingers tracing his sleeve. “It’ll be divine,” she purrs, eyes cutting to me. “You’ll be there, won’t you, Dane?”

“Of course, he’ll be there,” Dad answers before I’ve even opened my mouth.

“Yes,” I say, flashing Mitzy a sarcastic smile. “I wouldn’t want to miss welcoming our new stepmother to the family.”

The color slowly drains out of Mitzy’s face, while Julian snorts into his wine, but she recovers quickly.

“Don’t be so ridiculous. I’m a couple of years younger than you.” She sips her wine, her face the picture of innocence, while her hand drifts perilously close to my thigh.

“Will you be bringing anyone special to the party?” she adds.

Dad clears his throat. “You should bring someone, Dane. A woman with class. Someone who softens your edges a bit.”

Mitzy’s smile sharpens. “Yes, do. I’d love to meet whoever’s managed to keep your attention.”

I swirl my wine, watching the red cling to the glass. “No one’s managed that yet.”

Charlotte leans in. “You must have someone,” she presses. “You always do.”

I shrug, a flicker of a smile ghosting across my mouth. “Maybe I do.”

Julian perks up, grinning. “She got a name, or are we back to paying them by the hour?”

Charlotte elbows him in disgust. Dad doesn’t even flinch. “If you do, I hope she’s respectable,” he says as if Mitzy is a pillar of the community. “What does she do for a living?”

My jaw flexes. “What, do I need to submit her résumé for approval now?”

I set my fork down, leaning back, but my pulse does a slow, deliberate climb. Ivy’s face flashes in my mind. Somehow, she’s the first name that surfaces when anyone mentions a woman. Dad’s question sticks in my head like a splinter—What does she do for a living?I don’t even know what she does. Don’t know a damn thing about her, except she’s in my head.

Dad keeps talking, his voice a dull thrum in the background. “What about Leandra? That model who was hanging on your arm for a while. She was good for the brand. Beautiful girl. Always made an entrance.”

“I think she’s in Paris,” I say, not bothering to glance up as I pour more wine.

He cuts into his steak, smirking. “So even a runway model isn’t good enough for you now?”

I huff out a sound that could pass for a laugh. “Guess we weren’t meant to be.”

The words come out flat, half-distracted, like I’m already somewhere else. Because I am.

A flash of dark hair. That sharp intake of breath when I pushed her back against the wall. The pulse in her throat when my thumb traced her lips.

My hand finds my phone without me realizing, thumb hovering over her contact. I shouldn’t. But the itch to close the distance wins out.

What do you do for a living?

I hit send, lock the screen, and look up like nothing happened, draining the rest of my wine.

Dad’s still droning on about God knows what. Mitzy’s talking about flowers and invitations. Charlotte, ever the diplomat, nods along like she’s fascinated, as though she didn’t once tell me that marriage is just a useless piece of paper. Mitzy launches off on another tangent about orchids versus lilies. I barely hear any of it. My phone stays silent beside my plate like it’s damn well mocking me.

By the time I’m in the car, Kent driving me home, I’ve checked the screen enough times to feel stupid about it. But just as I slide the phone into my jacket pocket, it lights up.

ivy

Why, you hiring?

The corner of my mouth twitches, but I don’t text back. Not yet. I just sit there, the buzz of her reply humming under my skin.

Kent slows to a stop at Sutton Place, a quiet pocket of Manhattan that billionaires use to disappear. The East River glints between the gaps in the building, black glass and concrete softened by old elms. My building sits at the end of the block. Forty stories of smoked glass and pale stone.