After watching Hagan and Hyslop for a second, the blonde turned to order a drink at the bar. Harlow didn’t pay much attention, she was more interested in Hagan who’d positioned himself to face in her direction so he could keep watching her.
Could she make a break for it? Maybe the scene would be worth it. Hagan could run after her and tackle her to the floor in a mist of flailing limbs and desperate screams, but did he want to make a fool of himself like that in this room of his peers who probably admired him? She doubted it. But he may have a plan B, and—
“You’re sleeping with him, aren’t you?”
It took Harlow a second to realize that the question had come from the blonde and that the woman was talking to her. It hadn’t been immediately obvious because the blonde was leaning on the bar, staring straight ahead. The beauty was nowhere near as friendly or simpering as she had been a moment before.
“No,” Harlow said, which she would’ve said regardless of the blonde’s affect because, A) it was the truth, and B) she hadn’t been instructed to say otherwise. She couldn’t imagine any motivation for Hagan wanting anyone to think she and he were intimate, other than to hurt Ryske, and Harlow wouldn’t be party to that if she could avoid it. “No, I promise you we’ve never—”
“He’s been different recently. Distant. And all this week, he’s been edgy and angry, like something’s on his mind,” the blonde said, her cold eyes drifting in Harlow’s direction. “It’s you. You’re what’s different. Are you in love with him?”
Shock made Harlow blink. It was hard not to gasp in horror. “No! No, I could never—”
“He’s in love with you, I can tell,” the blonde said, switching her focus to her drink and breathing out an ironic laugh. “I didn’t think he was capable.”
Glancing past the blonde to Hagan, Harlow found she was still under his scrutiny. “I’d probably agree with that assessment. Well, except himself. He’s in love with himself.”
“He never shied from flirting with me, and his hands would wander, you know, like they do when a man’s interested and wants to push for more.”
Harlow would take the blonde’s word for that. She was pleased to have never had the pleasure of Hagan’s hands on her. Him just holding her hand was enough to put her off.
“I can promise you—”
“He’s just been so angry for the last month. He disappeared after the stabbing and I… it didn’t matter how many times Maze told me he was safe, I couldn’t believe it until I saw it with my own eyes.”
Maze… Slowly, her head turned to fixate on the blonde’s profile, though Harlow only watched for a moment before she turned to make eye contact. This woman wasn’t talking about Hagan at all. She knew Maze. Who would know Maze and about the stabbing? Someone who’d been there. Present and correct. Ophelia. This was Ophelia, it had to be.
“What’s your name?”
The blonde smiled. “He didn’t tell you about me?” she asked, flashing furtive eyes Harlow’s way. “I shouldn’t be surprised. I’ve heard how he likes to keep his women separate. Guess that’s why I never had a chance. After Anwen he was never the same. I suppose I remind him of her… maybe that’s why he trusts me… I always thought she was why he’d let us only go so far, but never all the way.”
Questions flooded Harlow’s mind about this Anwen and how Ophelia was connected to both her and to Hagan, and to Ryske.
“You’re in love with him,” Harlow murmured, though she hadn’t really meant to say anything.
The blonde didn’t answer her question, but there was a forlorn kind of pain in her gaze that broke Harlow’s heart. The woman did have feelings for Ryske, and he didn’t return those feelings. Or, if he did, he wouldn’t let himself act on them because of this Anwen.
“Ophelia.”
Neither of them expected to hear Hagan’s voice. Both were startled and turned in the direction of the sound to find him striding over. Once he was there, he put himself between them. The move, she supposed, was meant to look casual. Harlow saw it as a ploy and wondered if Ophelia saw through it too.
“How did it go?” Ophelia asked, impressing Harlow with how quickly she became the social butterfly again.
“The man is an oaf as always,” Hagan said, pushing his empty glass onto the bar and gesturing the bartender over. “But he’s a rich one with good ideas.”
“You’ll hear him out?”
“I’ll let him pitch.”
“Pitch what?” Harlow asked, seeing an opportunity.
Hagan couldn’t know that Ophelia was in cahoots with Ryske. There would be no reason for Hagan to be so friendly with a woman who was providing access and information to a person he despised. And given that Harlow was supposed to be his date for the evening, there would be no reason for him not to answer her question and share the story. Making the enquiry was normal small talk for a date.
“Hyslop is an amazing man,” Ophelia said, like she was simply filling her in. “He has a brilliant mind, but he’s just not personable. He can talk to people he likes one on one, but try to get him into an investors meeting…” She waved an airy hand. “Oh, it’s a disaster. I swear, he could pitch a spacecraft intended to get astronauts to Mars and back in a day, for the price of a popsicle, and he’d still find a way to mess it up.”
“So he’s an inventor,” Harlow asked and focused on Hagan. “Do you have something against him? If he’s going to make you money…”
“My brother doesn’t like dealing with erratic people.”
Clarity changed Harlow’s expression. “Your… brother?”
Ophelia laughed and put an arm around Hagan. “Yes! You didn’t think there was something salacious between us, did you? Goodness, that’s disgusting.”
Picking Ophelia’s arm from around him, Hagan eased her back a step. “You need to be careful what you’re saying,” he said to his sister. “This woman is connected to someone we both know.”
“We know plenty of people,” Ophelia said, gulping her drink and leaning past her brother to stage whisper to Harlow. “He doesn’t like his dates to know how ruthless he can be. I wouldn’t put it past him to take Hyslop’s idea and sell it as his own.” Ophelia laughed like she was joking… or was she? “Oh, I’m kidding, brother, wipe that displeasure from your face.”
“You’ve had too much to drink,” he said, plucking the glass from her hand. “Ophelia, you shouldn’t—”
“I think I’m allowed to get a little bit drunk.”
“Because he stood you up again?” he said.
Ophelia wasn’t as drunk as she was pretending to be, but Harlow could respect what she was doing. Lowering her brother’s expectations meant she could act in a less than responsible way and get away with it because he believed she was under the influence.
“Who stood her up?” Harlow asked, fearing what the answer might be.
Hagan’s glare snapped around to her. “Stop asking questions.”
“You brought me here,” she said, picking up the champagne she’d put aside earlier, figuring a couple of sips wouldn’t hurt. “Why shouldn’t I amuse myself?”
“You’re being rude.”
Taking the flute from her mouth, she caught a drip of champagne on her lip with her fingertip. “I’m being rude? You’re the one who…”
Just as she felt like she was getting into the spirit of the night and finding her groove in how to aggravate Hagan, a random partygoer in her peripheral vision stepped aside. The movement may not have registered if it hadn’t revealed someone she knew.
Ryske.
There was no frown on his face, his expression was blank. Although he appeared to be alone, she wondered how close the rest of the crew were. On the night he’d been stabbed, he’d been by himself. Harlow hoped that they’d learned from that error. Around others, on other ops, it might be safe for him to fly solo. Hagan had proved he was willing to be lethal, making him an unsafe mark for Ryske. Yet, there he was.
Ryske wasn’t just there, he was approaching them. It didn’t seem that Hagan had noticed him yet because he was whispering something to his sister, and wasn’t facing Ryske’s way.
Harlow felt a surge of panic. She didn’t know what to do. Her instinct was to go to him, to talk to him, to explain, and hopefully escape with him. It was impossible for her to know what he thought about the sight he was witnessing. Now he was within just a few feet. Her mouth opened, but she didn’t know what to say.
Ophelia gasped and leaped from her stool, hurrying past her brother to throw herself against Ryske. “Oh, you naughty boy, you kept me waiting,” Ophelia said, stroking his face. “Why must you always be late?”
“Like to keep you on your toes, Fi,” he said and dipped to kiss her.
Vomit almost touched the back of Harlow’s throat. While it wasn’t a full kiss, it was more than a friendly peck on the cheek.
Harlow didn’t mean to gawp or blanch, but she was still focused on the lip-locked pair when a voice filled her ear. “Did I forget to tell you about my sister’s ridiculous crush?”
Being discreet about shaking herself from her daze wasn’t easy. Though the speed of her recovery impressed even her. “Who says I didn’t know?” she asked Hagan, turning her back on the couple now whispering to each other.
The kiss was sickening to watch, but it was easier to witness that physical act than it was to observe the way Ryske smiled at the simpering Ophelia who wouldn’t stop touching him.
“Everyone’s waiting,” Ryske’s voice rose.
Harlow knew he wasn’t talking to her and did her best not to react to the deep sound that had been such a tormenting comfort to her so often since they’d met.
“Then what are we doing here?” Hagan said and put a hand to the small of her back. “Come with me.”
Still facing the bar, Harlow kept her lips on her champagne flute while she hissed at him through gritted teeth. “Why don’t you go to hell?”
Leaning in, he brushed her hair from her shoulder and kissed her ear provoking her instinct to pull away. Her recoil prompted him to slide his hand across her back and onto her opposite hip to tug her to him.
“I would rethink your attitude,” he grumbled. “The target you care about is within my sights. Do you think I would hesitate to hurt him?”
Turning her head was her only option. The rest of her body was locked in the clamp of Hagan’s half-embrace. With her shoulders tensed and her elbows on the bar, there was no room for maneuver, but she was grateful Hagan only had access to her hip.
“What would that get you?” she asked and took her time about drinking some more champagne before discarding the flute. “What’s to stop me from walking over there and sticking my tongue down his throat?” Pushing Hagan back, she twisted her body to face him, ignoring how his hand found its way into the slit of her dress. Letting Hagan provoke a reaction from her would provoke one from Ryske, she’d bet that was what Hagan was banking on. So Harlow focused her glare on him and blanked out the feel of his fingertips on her inner thigh. “Better yet, what’s to stop me walking over there, dropping to my knees and—”
“I’m not the only one watching,” Hagan said. “You or him. Do you want to take the risk of blowing his cover? You know how precious he is about that.”
Pressing her lips together, Harlow wasn’t sure if there was steam coming out of her nose; it felt like it. She hated this. Hated being out of control. Hated being under Hagan’s control. Hated what Ryske must think of her.
Though he hadn’t reacted to seeing her, he must have been hurt, or at least pissed, to see her with the man who’d ordered the stabbing. Hagan wasn’t only a mark, there was history between the men that she hadn’t understood. Now, given that Hagan wasn’t forthcoming, and Ryske probably hated her, she may never learn what had gone on between them.
“I will scream rape if you touch me again,” she said, sliding off her stool and resenting how close Hagan stayed to her.
Harlow held her breath when he inched closer still. When he touched her cheek and smiled at her like he was a boyfriend complimenting his girl, she had to clench her jaw.
“I’m not a man who takes to being taunted,” he murmured like they were words of love when they were anything but. “The more you say it, the more you make me want to show you just how helpless you are. I get what I want, your feelings are irrelevant to me.”
“What’s the delay?” Ophelia asked, approaching with Ryske at her side, her arm around his waist.
“No delay,” Hagan said and took Harlow’s hand to put it inside the crook of his elbow again.
“Good,” Ophelia said, opening a hand to the man at her side. “Harlow, I’d like you to meet Ryske.”
Turned out they all had roles to play in this crazy game. Fine, she was a newbie, but she’d figure it out. Harlow hadn’t introduced herself to Ophelia, though there was no reason for Hagan to know that, so Ophelia’s introduction should go under the radar.
Disgusted as she was, Harlow wasn’t going to endanger herself or Ryske. That didn’t mean she planned to make any of this easy for her jailor.
Widening her smile, she pinned it on Ryske. “Your boyfriend is extremely attractive, Ophelia,” Harlow said, offering her hand to Ryske.
A pro at appearing neutral, this was his job. It was no surprise that he could do passive. Ryske took her hand and bowed to kiss it.
Ophelia laughed. “Oh, he’s not exactly my boyfriend.”
“Not exactly?” Harlow asked, keeping Ryske’s hand even after he tried to release hers. Building a façade like she was just a flirt who didn’t want to let him go gave her the opportunity to be close to him for another few seconds. “Then I may have to fight you for him.” She licked her lips. “Ophelia, how do you restrain yourself?”
“Okay, ladies, form a line,” Ryske said and winked at her, making her giggle in a way she never had before.
Hagan yanked her hard against his side, shaking the smile from her face. “Behave yourself.”
“Not something I’m known for,” Harlow said out of the corner of her mouth.
“Trouble in paradise?” Ryske asked.
Hagan snatched Harlow’s hand away from the man in front of her. “No,” Hagan said. “Everything is as it should be.”
Ryske looked to her, more intrigue and concern on his face than there had been before. There was no outward sign that he was asking her, as himself, if she needed him to intervene. Yet, that felt like the opening he was giving her.
Pasting a smile on her face, she didn’t want to risk anyone getting hurt. “Just peachy,” she said.
“Then we should join our friends,” Ryske said, turning to put an arm around Ophelia’s shoulder to lead her through the crowd.