Stained Glass Shards

15.

ELYCE

Ritter led me to the front desk. I prayed for the hostess's discretion. As if the gods were on my side, a young man greeted us instead.

After checking us in, Ritter led us to the lounge. "This is my friend's club. He's a partner. We were supposed to have dinner here tomorrow with him, but I asked if we could have access today because of our change in plans. I've been here a few times before. We'll have cocktails in the lounge. They have a band or DJ every night."

The loud music of the live band could be heard from the third floor as we traveled up in the elevator. We exited on the top floor. I looked around nervously, sifting through the faces of the staff and guests for familiarity. An encounter with someone from earlier in the evening would expose my secret.

The hostess, a tall blonde, led us to a loveseat in the back. She removed the Reserved sign and waited for us to sit before handing Ritter the drinks menu. I couldn't help but shrink into the seat, scanning the room as he perused the list.

"You okay?"

"I feel so out of place here."

"I'm your agent. I know how much you belong here," he quipped.

I chuckled.

Ritter had negotiated a great price for the media sale of my book, so I couldn't argue. He'd procured a great commission but remained a traditional suitor. He paid for our meals, this trip, and never demanded I pay my fair share. Even when I tried to reach for my pocket or scan my digital wallet to pay for coffee, he denied me. And as a woman who didn't date often, I felt special and pampered.

The waitress returned and took our cocktail order. I went with a delicious concoction that assured I'd get tipsy enough to forget the day, but retain enough control to enjoy our last few hours together. He ordered himself a light meal and beer.

Feeling relaxed and sensual, I scooted closer to him. He leaned into me, and I inhaled his minty exhalation mixed with the scent of light beer. His lips looked wet and rosy—broadened into a smile as he looked deeply into my eyes. I didn't dare kiss him. Our presence in the exclusive club required decorum. He had warned me earlier about retaining a professional persona. But he confused me by sitting so close, licking and biting his lower lip as if he was restraining himself from taking me on the sofa.

I would have preferred to have stayed in our room, naked in blissful languor.

The night was filled with music, stories, and laughter as we delighted in each other's company. But the feeling of loss hung like a rain cloud. As the time passed, I knew he would have to leave. I enjoyed Ritter's presence. He made me feel beautiful, intelligent, and desirable. We could talk about the industry, him giving me advice and me sharing my experiences as an artist.

Lost in discussion, we were interrupted by the clearing of a male throat.

Ritter turned first, smiling at the interloper. He stood and extended his hand. My gaze followed his body and up the healthy arm of Griffin Belanger.

I froze, watching Griffin's fake smile as he directed a question at me. I didn't hear it. I was deafened by shock and muted by dread.

"Claire," Ritter said, "Griffin just asked you how you're enjoying LA."

The idea of maintaining small talk with him while in Ritter's presence repulsed me. Griffin and I had spent our time together, and now he was taunting me.

"It makes me appreciate Boston," I retorted, replicating his phony grin.

"Aww. It can't be that bad. You'll enjoy yourself these next couple of days," Ritter said.