His For A Price |z.h|

4

The crotchet dress did not improve on acquaintance, Niall thought, sighing to himself as he made a last check on his appearance. Worn with knee-length white boots that laced up the front, the outfit presented itself as the kind of sexy tease which needed a certain amount of sophistication to carry off, and he knew he was nowhere near that level. 

However, he'd done his best. He'd used the heavier foundation he reserved for these occasions, transforming his face into a blank canvas, then smoothed shimmering silver on to his eyelids, accentuating it with softly smudged black liner, before adding two coats of mascara to his long lashes. 

Fancy dress and a mask, he told himself as he applied perfume on his wrists and his temple. 

There was room for very little but the basics in his tiny evening purse, and as he searched in his shoulder bag for the compact of pressed translucent powder he always wore, he found the slip of paper Louis and Harry had given him, with their name, address and telephone number. 

It was the nearest to a friendship he'd achieved since leaving Britain, and it was also a possible lifeline, he though wryly as he tucked it carefully into his wallet. 

Bobby was pacing the sitting room and he gave a nod of judicious satisfaction as Niall emerged from his bedroom. 

"Once dinner is over, someone will come to escort us to the Malik suite," he told Niall. 

"Very formal," his tone was dry. "As are you," Niall added removing a speck of fluff from the lapel of his dinner jacket. "If the black tie strictly necessary?" 

He shrugged. "It's a big night. And a very big game. Mr. Malik can afford to impose his own rules." 

But can you afford to play by them ? was the question Niall did not dare to ask as they took the lift down to the dining room. 

He ate sparingly at dinner, and drank even less, noting that his father was being equally abstemious. Afterwards they drank coffee on the terrace outside the dining room while the time ticked slowly past, building the tension inside him. 

He said. "Do you think it's not going to happen - that we've been forgotten?" 

'No," Bobby shook his head."Apparently, he plays for amusement with some of his friends. After they leave, the stakes rise and the game becomes very serious. We'll be sent for soon." 

But it was well after midnight when Nicholas Johnson appeared unsmilingly  beside them. "I'm here on behalf of Mr. Malik who invites you to join him." He paused. "I should warn you that you will be required to pay one thousand dollars simply to buy into the game." 

Oh, God, Niall thought, suddenly weak with relief. We haven't got a thousand cents. I never thought I'd be glad to be broke. 

But his father was meeting Nicholas's questioning glance with an airy shrug. "There's no problem about that. I was told he played in dollars and I have the money." 

Thanks, no doubt, to Mrs. Van Dyne, Niall whispered under his breath, silently cursing all rich American widows. 

"I must also caution you that Mr. Malik is a formidable opponent. It is not too late for you to make your excuses - or at least those of the mademoiselle." Niall rolled his eyes, used to people mistaking him for a female because of how he was portrayed in front of others by his very own father. 

"You really mustn't concern yourself." There was a note of steel in Bobby's voice. "I'm looking forward to the game, and so is Niall - aren't you darling?" 

Niall saw the manager's mouth tighten. As they walked to the lift, he spoke quietly to him in French. "Do you ever suffer from migraine mademoiselle? If so, I suggest you develop one very quickly."