The Den is part gentleman’s club, where socializing happens with liquor and cigars. Part Renaissance salon, where ideas are discussed. And part boardroom, where deals are made.
Both Sutton and Christopher are regulars here, which means I put on my best dress. Even Mom notices the effort, telling me I’ll turn heads tonight. I might not be with either man right now, but I can at least show them what they’re missing. Tonight I need something that shallow. Something that selfish. Something that sweet.
Tonight that means a strapless red gown that flares into an asymmetrical sweep beside my knee. It’s head-turning anywhere, but in the low lamp glow of the Den I’m like a walking, talking beacon to the men around me. There are a hundred eyes on my body as I weave around crinkled leather chairs a
