It might be the spot to see and be seen after hours, but the owner keeps it from being absolutely unbearable with a particular brand of entertainment in the evening and the best food and drink Olympus has to offer.
Speak of the devil.
Pan himself is behind the host counter, talking to the hostess in low tones. He’s what my grandmother would call a character. He is one of the few success stories that don’t link back to a lineage stretching to the city’s conception. Even I’m not sure where he came from—I suspect the lower city—but he showed up one day and bought the old restaurant that used to be in this space with cash. Within five years, he’d built a reputation that drew Olympus’s elite families like magpies to glittering jewels. Now, he’s nearly untouchable. No one wants to risk infuriating him and being blacklisted from this place, especially not after how things fell out with the last Aphrodite.
Pan is a short man with light-brown skin and a riot of short dark curls. He’s got a wicked sense of humor and an infectious grin, which he’s pointing our way right now. “Apollo.” He excuses himself from the hostess and rounds the stand with arms outstretched. “It’s been too long.”
“Pan. You look well.” I allow myself to be pulled into a quick hug. I don’t know that Pan and I are what could be termed friends. I enjoy his company and we’ve shared more than a few top-shelf bottles of liquor after hours, but we don’t see each other outside his place of business.
I turn him to face Cassandra. Here’s our first test. “I’d like you to meet my girlfriend, Cassandra.”
She doesn’t flinch, but she does give Pan a dismissive once-over. “Nice place.”
He bursts out laughing, the joyful sound filling the entranceway. “You seem suitably impressed. I’ve never seen you in here before.” He takes her hand and presses a kiss to her knuckles. It should be a ridiculous move, but a blush steals across Cassandra’s cheeks, and I have the completely irrational urge to throw Pan into the koi pond. He glances at me, dark eyes alight with amusement. “She seems fun.”
“She is standing right here.”
“Indeed.” His grin widens. “I have the best seat in the house set up for you. Have fun, kids.” He clasps me on the shoulder and then he’s gone, striding down a side hallway that leads to the offices and kitchen.
The hostess, a petite white woman with pale-blond hair, smiles warmly at us. “This way, please.”
The Dryad is set up in a very interesting way, and I’m curious to see Cassandra’s reaction. I watch her closely as the hostess leads us up the tall staircase and into the main restaurant. It leaves quite the impression from above, the room comprised of three descending rings with a circular stage in the very center. The lower the circle, the better the seat is considered.
Personally, I prefer the higher ring. I like people-watching, and spending time in the Dryad is a good way to see where alliances stand with the various power players in the city. Naturally, tonight we’re led down to the very bottom ring. I press my hand to the small of Cassandra’s back as we descend, a thrill going through me at the casual touch. She’s so damn soft, I have to concentrate to keep my touch light and not let my hand stray.
Gods, I’m acting like an absolute cad.
I pull out the chair for Cassandra, moving too quickly and jerkily. She raises her brows but sinks into the seat. I can feel eyes on us as I move to sit next to her. An unconventional choice, maybe, but it will allow us to speak in softer voices. The walls have ears in this place.
Yes, that’s all. It’s certainly not because I want to be close to her, to have her thigh pressed to mine and her citrusy perfume teasing my senses, letting her presence distract me…
I realize my mistake the moment I sit down, but it’s too late. If I move, our audience might take it as a slight or use it as an excuse to gossip in a direction I don’t want them to go. I truly am acting like an unforgivable fool.
For once, Cassandra doesn’t appear to notice. She’s surveying the stage with a strange look on her face. “How can you stand this? Don’t you feel like a bear in a cage?”
“I prefer the upper ring.” I pick up the menu, mostly for something to do. “The tables up there are less sought out—comparably—but it’s a more…relaxing…eating experience.”
Her gaze tracks up. “Yeah, I get that.” She sighs and picks up the menu. “I’m going to be frank. I’m starving and you’re paying, so I’m going to order the most delicious thing I can find, and it’s not going to be a salad. If you are one of those people who feels the need to critique my food choices because I’m fat, I’m going to dump wine on your head and leave.”
I blink, trying to process the onslaught of information—and the implications. A slow anger flares to life in my stomach. “Do you make a habit of dating people who comment on your eating habits?”
“Not anymore.” She doesn’t look at me, but her hands shake a little where she holds the menu. “But I find it easier to state my intentions up front and avoid any bullshit. Or, more accurately, get the bullshit over with before it has a chance to ruin my meal.”
“Cassandra.” I cover her wrist with my hand, guiding the menu to the table. “Order what you want.” I should leave it at that, but the strange anger steals my best intentions. “And to be perfectly frank, fuck anyone who acts like you need to change your body to fit some bullshit beauty standard. You’re stunning.”
She blinks those big, dark eyes at me. “Apollo.”
I just overstepped, didn’t I? I open my mouth to apologize, but her soft laugh stops me in my tracks. Cassandra doesn’t laugh often, and never like this, with a strange sort of wonder on her face.
She presses her lips together and turns back to her menu. “I’ve never heard you swear before, and then you drop two in one sentence in my defense. I’m honored.”
She’s making fun of me, but I can’t help a small smile in response. “I swear.”
“No, you really don’t. You’re painfully proper and polite.” She shakes her head. “But thanks for the compliment.”
Compliment. As if calling her stunning isn’t pure truth. Cassandra might not have the commonly sought-after body type in this city, but I don’t see how that matters. Beauty is beauty in whatever shape it comes in.
Cassandra is so beautiful, it takes my breath away.
7
Cassandra
It’s so easy to be with Apollo. I don’t know why that surprises me, but I think I’d convinced myself that he was a different person outside the office. He must be. I’ve encountered his family from time to time over the years—first his parents before my parents were murdered, and more recently his shit show of a little brother, Orpheus. They are not good people. Oh, Orpheus might manage it one day if he pulls his head out of his ass long enough to look around and realize that in Olympus, beautiful tortured artists are a dime a dozen. The only reason he gets away with his bad behavior is because of who he’s related to.
And Apollo recently stopped taking his calls.
But the man sitting next to me, his thigh a distracting weight against mine? He should be the worst of the worst. He’s reached the pinnacle of power within the city. He should be abusing it left and right, at least according to the actions of the other members of the Thirteen. If he’d been one of the Thirteen when my parents attempted to assassinate Athena, he would have been part of their murder and subsequent cover-up.