by Bethany-Kris
Sargon took his sweet time parking the black Mercedes sedan. He couldn’t lie—he didn’t want to be very involved in this evening.
Maybe he could fake it, though.
Even that was up for debate.
All too soon, Sargon found where his boss was waiting for him. Jett stood at the top of the stairs leading into what Sargon now knew to be his youngest son’s restaurant. Quite the fancy place, Sargon assumed, considering the gold plated trim around the windows, the heavy, expensive-looking drapery hiding the inside from view, and not to mention the dress code to attend.
“Glad to see you threw on a suit,” Jett muttered.
Sargon shrugged as he moved in beside the man. “I managed to get five minutes to do so.”
Sometime in between checking on Cozen, and having a suit delivered to him, that was. He pulled the suit on, and took his sweet fucking time knotting the tie. Sargon was not a three-piece kind of man. He much preferred a good silk shirt, and properly pressed slacks.
This suit thing was Jett’s demand.
Dress code policy, after all.
“Well?” Jett asked. “How did it go today?”
“Quite well.”
“That tells me nothing.”
Sargon glanced over at the man, but Jett wasn’t even giving him any attention. He was too busy staring down at something on the screen of his phone. “She was pampered, like you wanted. Properly spoiled.”
“And she liked it?”
That was up for debate.
Sargon figured Cozen had tolerated all the attention, not to mention having people constantly touching her. She put up with the one who ignored every suggestion she had about her clothes, and the other one who all but demanded she put her hair up into some kind of classic style instead of wearing it down.
Eventually, she just settled into the idea of letting them do whatever they wanted or needed to do so she could get it over with. Or, that was Sargon’s perspective of how that all went down earlier.
He didn’t think Jett wanted to know those details, though. The man would only care to know that Cozen appeared happy, and beautiful.
That’s all Jett needed.
“I think,” Sargon drawled, “you will be pleased to see her.”
Jett did finally glance up from his phone at that statement. A wide smile spread over his features as he gave Sargon a nod. “That’s all that matters.”
As I figured …
Sargon had not been lying.
Jett was pleased when he finally saw Cozen.
How could he blame the man?
She was quite a sight.
Sargon had a hard time tearing his gaze away from the woman, actually. He stayed to the shadows of the restaurant. He moved along the walls, and occasionally found his way back to the bar when needed for a drink.
Still, he couldn’t help but watch her.
She had settled on the navy silk gown. Or, the bitch pushed it on her. Either way, it looked damn good draped over her curves, and sweeping the floor. Low cut in the front, and dangerously opened in the back, it showed off all kinds of skin.
A slit up the leg showcased a peek of her tanned skin and smooth thighs every time she turned to follow Jett to another table.
This restaurant was just as much about eating food as it was about mingling, and seeing people. People who were worth knowing, essentially. Rich fucks with pockets so deep, they might never find their way out again should they get lost.
Sargon didn’t miss the way Cozen’s gaze swept the room as though she was looking for something—or someone—when Jett’s back was turned to talk to yet another three-piece. Him, probably. She knew he was there.
Hidden by the shadows of a hallway at the moment, she couldn’t see him at all. He saw the way her gaze dropped, as did her smile briefly, before her mask came back in to place like it had never left at all.
She went back to the conversation at hand with a grin from Jett like she had never drifted from it in the first place. She stuck a hand out, and allowed the three-piece to kiss her knuckles as she was introduced and greeted.
Again.
And all over again, Sargon’s gut burned.
Jealousy was a horrible feeling.
A monster, really.
As quickly as this meeting between Jett, Cozen, and the three-piece had started, they moved on to someone else. Another faceless suit to greet, and smile for. Someone else to admire a beauty they would never fully appreciate or understand.
Their dinner had been done over an hour ago, and then this whole charade started. Sargon wondered how long it was going to last because he was already growing tired of it.
This was exactly why he never lasted long in any one job. His patience was thin, and his heart was far too restless to stay put in one place for long.
Of course, this job was different.
Cozen was the biggest difference. Her presence was more than enough to put Sargon on an entirely different foot when it came to the job. If he were smart, he would consider backing off, and telling Jett he no longer wanted to work for the man. Take his feelings out of the equation entirely, and stop putting himself—and Cozen, likely—in danger with this game they were playing.
Apparently, Sargon was not a smart man because he didn’t entertain the idea for long. Just long enough to get that heavy, burning sensation back in his gut that told him there was no fucking way he would let that woman out of his sights for very long. Certainly not long enough that he might lose her for good.
Sargon’s gaze drifted to Cozen and Jett again.
Ah …
Another three-piece, but this time, the faceless rich fuck had a too-young, very plastic wife on his arm. Fake all over from the extensions in her hair, to the slightly orange tan on her skin. That was before Sargon got to the tits, nails, and oddly proportioned hips.
Christ.
Sargon knew what Jett was doing.
He knew.
He could see it without needing confirmation.
This was a test for Cozen, in a way. Jett was testing her tonight. Seeing how she did as he moved her from table to table, and new person to new person. He was checking to see if she was malleable enough to fit in with these kinds of people. Could she blend in with their high-rolling society, and never look out of place?
Sargon had news for the man.
Cozen was far too unique to blend in.
She was always going to stand out.
Always outshine.
Goddamn.
Sargon really needed a drink at the moment. He pushed out of the shadows, and headed directly for the bar knowing that alcohol was the only thing that might make this night slightly more fucking bearable.
He didn’t care that he was supposed to be keeping out of sight—from Cozen, and anyone else who Jett mingled with for the evening.
Soon, a bartender was pushing three shots of top-shelf whiskey across the bar. Sargon threw the first shot back, and relished in the harsh burn it provided as he swallowed it down. The second shot went down just as fucking easily.
There was something about whiskey …
It made all things better.
He grabbed the last shot, but hesitated to take it.
Sargon looked for his boss and Cozen again. He found them moving away from another couple, and closer to the dance floor. If you could call the small patch of hardwood floor in the middle of the place a dance floor.
People were dancing there. Jett and Cozen soon joined them.
Sargon’s gaze was only on Cozen, though. On the way that dress of hers fell over her curves, and the deep plunges teasing him far too much. Not to mention, the slit in the leg that kept giving him peeks of heaven. A heaven he knew, and Jett did not.
The two of them moved quickly across the dance floor in a fast waltz, and on a turn, Cozen happened to finally lay eyes on Sargon for the first time that night. She had not seen him since he said goodbye to her at the hotel.
Oh, he had been watching her.
&nbs
p; All night.
He didn’t give a shit about Jett.
“You know,” said a voice from Sargon’s side, “I am not sure my father would appreciate the way you are looking at his date for the evening.”
Yeah, whiskey made everything better.
Except for this night.
Sargon tossed back the third shot, turned his back to Jett and Cozen, and slammed the shot glass to the bar. “Another three, thanks.”
The bartender’s brow shot up, but he did as he was told.
Dash, however, laughed. “Did you not hear me, or what?”
“I heard you,” Sargon muttered, passing Jett’s youngest son—and the owner of the establishment—a look. “I just don’t care what you have to say.”
“Little unwise, isn’t it? I might have useful things to say, Sarg.”
Sargon sneered. “It’s Sargon. Call me that again, and Jett or no Jett, I will feed you your fingertips after I slice them off your fingers.”
“Touchy.” The twenty-five year old turned his back to the bar, and looked out on the floor. Sargon stayed just like he was. “I meant what I said, though. Dad gets particular about his females. I mean, he hasn’t had many since mom died a while back, but still. He doesn’t like the idea of somebody encroaching on what he’s chasing after.”
“Nobody is encroaching on anything.”
“He only needs the idea you are. Get what I’m saying?”
“She’s hard not to admire. And he is showing her off.”
“Fair enough.” Dash turned and snatched one of Sargon’s three new shots before quickly slamming it back. Letting out a hard breath, he set the shot glass back to the table. “It’s fucked up to think the next woman my dad might marry—technically it would make her my step-mother—is the same age as me.”
Yep.
That did it.
Sargon waved a hand at the bartender to get the guy’s attention. “Just get me the whole bottle.”
“Sir—”
“I want the bottle.”
“Sir, I can’t give you the bottle. I can give you a couple more shots instead.”
Fuck it all to hell.
Whiskey was going to make something better. Sargon would call one of Jett’s other men to drive him to the mansion.
Sargon was not drunk.
No.
He was … buzzed.
Yes, that worked.
Slightly buzzed, but definitely not drunk. Buzzed enough that he had not been able to drive the car home, but that was fixed easily enough when another man stepped in to help. Frankly, Sargon was a lucky fuck.
Jett had been far too caught up in Cozen to even realize Sargon was not on his game. So much so, that he hadn’t even looked for Sargon when he left the restaurant. He just assumed the man would follow right behind.
Which he did.
Sort of.
“You owe me,” the man told him as he parked the car in the estate’s driveway.
Sargon was only half listening. “Mmm.”
He was too busy watching the driver of the limo get out, and move around the back to open the passenger door. Jett exited first, and then Cozen soon followed. Helped by the hand Jett held out to her.
“Did you fucking hear me?”
What was the man’s name again?
Brad.
Ben.
Barker.
Something that started with a B, anyway.
“Yeah, yeah,” Sargon said, waving a hand at the guy. “Owe you, and all that good shit.”
A couple of hours, and Sargon would be fine. He would sober up, and get back to his usual self. Not any worse for wear, either.
The whiskey hadn’t helped, though.
Not like he hoped it would.
Sargon exited the car just as Cozen and Jett stood to chat beside the limo. He leaned against the car, and pulled out a pack of smokes to light one up. This job was bad for his health—he was smoking far more than he ever had before.
The voices of the two across the way carried to him with the light May breeze. He could have done without hearing more of their conversation. He didn’t like the way Jett spoke to Cozen in a familiar way, and he couldn’t possibly like how she fed into it, either.
“You couldn’t find something to replace this with?” Jett asked. “The jeweler didn’t have anything that caught your eye?”
As he asked, he fingered the golden band tight around Cozen’s thumb. She quickly pulled her hand back, but offered a brilliant smile that would distract any man.
As long as it wasn’t Sargon …
He was catching on to this woman’s tricks.
“I don’t like to take it off,” she said. “I’ve worn it for so long now.”
“I see.” Jett gestured at the house, saying, “Guests are waiting. Care to join me?”
Like she could say no?
Cozen didn’t refuse.
Sargon wished he had more whiskey.
“You moved from California to New York?” the blonde asked.
Cozen had not listened well enough to remember the woman’s name when she was introduced to her an hour ago. She was regretting that now, considering she had been left alone with the chick to chat. “I did, yes.”
“God, why?”
“To do something different,” Cozen replied.
Yes, that worked.
It wasn’t entirely the truth, but it wasn’t entirely a lie, either.
“But … good weather, the beach, and all the beautiful people!”
Cozen tipped her wine up for a sip, and hid her smile in the glass. Swallowing down the sweet liquor, she finally replied, “Sometimes you just need a change. That’s what this was for me. A change.”
“I see.”
The blonde wasn’t too bad to talk to, really. Unlike some of the other guests who had been invited to the mansion for the evening, this woman didn’t make comments about Cozen’s job, or her status, and she had yet to give her a backhanded compliment. Something all women liked to do far too often to their counterparts.
Of course, out of the six guests there, Cozen found none interesting. They were all the same faceless, nameless rich people. Dripping in wealth, and arrogance. A touch too ignorant, too. Their snobbery couldn’t be matched when they thought Jett’s back was turned.
Cozen wasn’t going to tattle on Jett’s friends—she wasn’t a wilting flower, and they couldn’t exactly wound her pride with a couple of low-grade insults. They were not anything she couldn’t handle on her own.
And she had been doing that just fine.
Besides, Cozen was all too aware that they didn’t know her at all. They only knew the person Jett and she presented to them. The waitress he met—living in a small Manhattan apartment, and prettied up because Jett arranged for it to be so tonight.
To them, that probably screamed low class, and gold digger. She certainly wasn’t up to their kind of snuff, anyway.
It was amusing.
Cozen bet she had more zeroes in a Swiss bank account than they did. And even if they met her under different circumstances—in her real life, not playing this character for a job—she doubted they would know the truth.
Unlike them, she didn’t need her wealth or to show it off in order to feel validated or successful in her life. The money was nice, sure. Stability and reassurance money provided couldn’t be matched except for the feeling of having someone love you, but it was good, too. Good to have, and good to keep.
Just in case.
“Do you think we should get back to the rest of them?” the woman asked.
Cozen’s gaze slid in the direction of the entryway to the large library. “Why don’t we walk around some more? My legs are restless. I feel like I’ve been sitting down too much.”
That was her being nice.
And sly.
Cozen had zero interest in returning to the other guests where they were probably still drinking too much wine in the entertainment room at the Griffin estate. Jett had gotten a phone call for s
omething, and excused himself to take it. That was a good hour ago, now. Maybe a little more.
None of his guests had seemed very surprised. One of the men even happened to mention that it was all too common for Jett to just up and go during social things because he never stopped working. Someone was always calling him back to the job. They didn’t seem very offended about him leaving them high and dry, either.
This was also a good chance for her to look around, and so, she had done that a little bit. She slipped out of the entertainment room while the others’ backs were turned. It wasn’t like they would miss her presence—maybe they would miss insulting her, though.
Who knew?
Cozen managed to look around several rooms on the bottom floor of the one wing. Two kitchens, staff quarters, and a living room with a television the size of one wall. Attached to both kitchens were two separate dining rooms. One very large, and another smaller one—more intimate in size and decoration.
She had also checked four bathrooms, what appeared to be a small office, though mostly unused and with nothing valuable inside, and a goddamn coat closet. It seemed—at least on the bottom floor—the entertainment room, the living space, the main kitchen, and the big dining room were the largest spaces and took up most of the square footage in the wing.
That, and the massive library she stumbled into. Out of all of the rooms on the bottom floor, she found this one most interesting. Cozen figured if a man was going to hide something valuable, or hide a safe keeping something valuable, this would be a great room to do it in. It was large, excessive, and distracting in far too many ways.
From the floor-to-ceiling shelving stained a cherry oak, to the silk draperies hanging from the tall windows. It all screamed riches and wealth. Not to mention, the gold and crystal chandelier hanging from a vaulted ceiling.
She would be remiss if she didn’t mention the constant displays of Jett’s wealth all though the bottom floor of the mansion estate, too. It was everywhere. From the gold plated crown molding, to the trim around the doorways. He liked gold—he also seemed to like anything that was crystal. Leather was another common theme in different rooms.
She wondered what was upstairs.