King of Pride (Kings of Sin, #2)(45)

“Kai?” Alessandra’s voice grounded me back in the club.

I blinked away the memory and slipped on an easy smile. Focus. “But I think I’ll join you after all.

I’d much rather spend the evening with friends than strangers.”

“Perfect.” She returned my smile. “Vivian will be happy to see you.”

We made small talk as we took the elevator up to the third floor, but I was only half paying attention.

I hadn’t reached out to Isabella since Thanksgiving Eve. One, I’d been swamped with work, and two, I’d needed time to sort through my thoughts.

The rational side of me insisted I leave things as they were. No good would come of pursuing her any further, especially with the board watching my every move. I couldn’t afford a scandal before the CEO vote, and everything about Isabella—from her indecent conversation topics to her ability to storm through every defense I’d erected with nothing but a smile—screamed scandal. The irrational side of me, however, didn’t give a fuck.

For the first time in my life, the irrational side was winning.

When Alessandra and I entered the VIP lounge, my eyes automatically scanned the room for a pair of familiar dimples and dark hair.

Nothing.

Vivian and Sloane sat at a corner table, but Isabella was nowhere in sight.

She could be in the restroom or getting another drink…or she could be dancing with someone somewhere else in the club.

Green spread in my blood like poison.

I’d never been jealous of anyone in my life. I didn’t need to be; I’d always been the fastest, smartest, most accomplished person in the room. I barely paid attention to the competition because there was no competition.

But in that moment, I was so fucking jealous of a hypothetical person I couldn’t breathe.

I attempted to marshal my runaway emotion into a neutral expression as I approached the table. I wasn’t sure I succeeded; it was too thick and consuming, like smoke billowing from a wildfire.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I brought a guest.” Alessandra took the seat next to Vivian, whose eyebrows winged up when she saw me. “I saw Kai downstairs and figured the more, the merrier.”

“I’m here for research,” I said, preempting Vivian’s question. “Mode de Vie is featuring Verve in an article about Manhattan nightlife.”

Note to self: tell Mode de Vie’ s entertainment editor to run an article on Manhattan nightlife and mention Verve.

“I see.” Amusement glided across her face. “Well, like ?le said, the more, the merrier. I hope you find some good tidbits for your…article.”

“You’re doing the research yourself?” Sloane leaned back and assessed me with cool, skeptical eyes. Alessandra and Vivian were dressed for a night out, but Sloane’s tight bun and wide-legged pantsuit looked like they came straight from the office. “Isn’t that something reserved for junior writers, not division presidents?”

“I prefer a hands-on approach to projects I’m interested in.”

“Such as those pertaining to city nightlife.”

My smile tightened. “Yes.”

“Interesting.” She looked like she was gearing up for a second round of interrogation, but fortunately, a burst of laughter from a nearby table caught her attention before she could grill me further. Her eyes snapped to her right, and her expression iced so quickly I felt the chill in my bones.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

I followed her glare to the group lounging in the booth across from us. It consisted of celebrity offspring, wild-child socialites, and a few hangers-on, one of whom was booted unceremoniously from his seat for the latest arrival.

His back was to me, but I’d recognize the tattoos anywhere. There was only one person who’d ink a rival family’s crest on his bicep.

Xavier Castillo, the youngest son of Colombia’s richest beer magnate.

Sloane stormed over to his table. He turned, a grin forming on his face despite her obvious displeasure. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but judging by her hand gestures and his irreverent expression, I was minutes away from witnessing a murder.

Alessandra’s brows knitted. “Is that Xavier? I thought he was in Ibiza.”

I was as surprised as she was to see him in the city. He usually whiled away his days on a yacht, surrounded by models and other hedonistic heirs. His father had built his company from the ground up, but Xavier’s ambition hovered somewhere south of zero.

“He moved to New York a few weeks ago. He’s Sloane’s newest client.” Vivian winced when Sloane jabbed a finger at his chest, her eyes sharp enough to pierce stone. Xavier yawned, seemingly unfazed. “They’re having some growing pains.”

After another terse exchange, Sloane stalked toward the exit. “I’ll be right back,” she said grimly as she passed our table. Xavier followed her, managing to look bored and amused at the same time.

He nodded a greeting at me and winked at Vivian and Alessandra, who watched them leave with a wry smile.

“And then there were three,” she said. “So much for girls’ night.”

“Speaking of which, where’s Isabella?” I asked casually. As fascinating as Sloane’s client problems were, I didn’t care to speculate about what she was doing with—or to—Xavier, though I wouldn’t put it past her to stab him with a stiletto.