The tiny rational slice left in my brain conceded his point. It wouldn't surprise me if Poppy swallowed and spilled –the details right back to Samson. So Rohan had gotten a blow job. We weren't exclusive. In fact, this was good. If I ever decided to sleep with him again, and knowing where his dick had been, it was debatable, he'd be in no position to criticize my "no kiss" stance. I forced the part of my brain screaming obscenities at him to return to my best Rasha self and get with the program.
"You're absolutely right." My phone buzzed with a text. "Oh. My date with Samson is a go."
Rohan shot back his whiskey.
"More bonding?" Drio leered.
"More brilliance." I double clicked my notes file on my desktop. "Okay, so here's what I learned last night."
"About time," Rohan said. "Give us something to take the demon bastard down."
"Alleged demon. This is all still conjecture."
"Learned a couple law terms from Daddy, did we?" Rohan poured himself another drink. "You're not running the show here, and I sure as shit don't need you telling me how to think about my mission."
I frowned at him. "I'm not doubting your gut. But you're the one who said we don't think of him as a demon until –"
I flinched as Rohan's glass shattered against the far wall, streaking amber liquid on to the pristine carpet.
Drio jumped to his feet, his hand clamping down on my shoulder. "Go."
No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get free. He stuffed my laptop, bag, and plug overflowing into my arms, and shoved me into the hallway. I protested the unfairness of the situation the entire time.
Door half-shut at his back, Drio spoke in a low voice so Rohan couldn't hear. "You can share what you learned with us tomorrow."
"But –"
He cast a worried glance back at the suite. "Tomorrow."
I tore into my wardrobe choices, muttering about Rohan needing to get his head out of his ass. If I had been the one costing us precious time in learning something potentially valuable about Samson? Drio would have speed-dialed Mandelbutt to have me exterminated.
I looked at the mismatched red and black shoes that I'd paired with a blue dress. And pulling my own head out in three, two …
Samson hadn't specified the dress code for tonight, but I needed to be the subject of more photos and provide further evidence of me as a taste-maker. Samson's tastes at least. I calmed myself down and dressed with purpose.
A narrow band of black fabric wrapped around my neck like a thick choker. A wider band in the same material covered my breasts like a bandeau. The final part of the outfit consisted of a fitted pencil skirt, also black and the same stretchy material, that hit above the knee. Even my high heels were made of three black fabric bands, the narrowest over my toes, then another over the arch of my foot, with the last above my ankle.
All the training I'd been doing over the past few weeks were toning my body in a different way than when I'd been dancing. I posed in the mirror, arms stretched out, enjoying the sleek line of my limbs. The smooth curve of my silhouette. My legs went on for miles. With my hair down and glossy nude lips, I looked pretty damn exquisite.
According to Samson's text, I had half an hour before he was swinging by to pick me up. I opted to wait in the lobby. Should anybody give me admiring looks, like say rock stars needing to grovel an apology, I'd be fine with that.
I got looks. Even a couple of drink offers. My heart sped up at the sight of a couple that I thought were Rohan and Lily, but it wasn't them. I wondered if they were together, off doing couple things. My mind wandered down that road for a bit but when the woman in my imaginings started looking less like Lily and more like me, I shut that ridiculousness down.
"Mr. King is waiting for you in the car." Showtime.
"Brickie!" I greeted the driver like a long lost friend. "How's it hanging?"
Nothing. He was immune to my many charms. I followed him out to a black Escalade idling at the curb. Brickie opened the door for me and I slid in across from Samson, putting my back to the TV playing a rap video. He was on the phone and didn't look up as I entered, so I blatantly checked him out. He wore a black knit cap along with a black cashmere sweater and dark pants and looked really good in all of it.
"I don't give a shit, Forrest," Samson said. "Work tomorrow's schedule around my conference call or I don't show." My first taste of Samson as temperamental star.
Having never been in an Escalade before, I wanted to examine every customized inch of it, run my hands over the cream leather, see if the tiny lights in the ceiling twinkled, and snoop through all the compartments to reveal their secrets, but Lolita would have been in these a million times so I defaulted back to her general bored disinterest.