“What do you need me to do about it?” I prompted. “Make him back off? Discredit him?”

  “I don’t want to ruin him,” Livingston muttered.

  “Not like he wants to ruin you.” The comeback was too quick and cut too close to the bone. I had feared my time away from deal making had dulled my edge, but it may have given me a sharper one. Which was less than helpful in delicate negotiations like this.

  Livingston’s jaw clenched, causing a vein to pulse in his temple.

  We were getting nowhere fast.

  Luxe looked bored by it all, toying with the shot glass like he wanted to drink it. I huffed a breath and thought of how to try again. I didn’t like to make the opening bid. It was always better to let the client name their terms, then negotiate down. But talks had stalled, and I wasn’t about to restart them by telling Livingston how to mitigate his own disaster.

  Either way, the sooner we wrapped this up, the sooner I could leave Livingston and Luxe to enjoy however much time I’d booked. Did that hour kick in when I’d requested him, or when he arrived? And who was keeping track?

  Speaking of Luxe, he was on his feet again, bypassing me to the door he’d pulled closed where yet another distraction was waiting for admittance.

  “You two are in for a treat,” Luxe purred. “Did I mention I have a plus one tonight?”

  He definitely did not.

  I pinpointed the other man as Luxe ushered him into the room.

  The new kid entered my proximity like an asteroid plummeting toward Earth.

  The details I’d observed at a distance came clear now that we were face to face. He was a handful of inches shorter than me, slim and so very lithe. He padded into the room on those half-wrapped feet, his toenails glittering with polish.

  Funny detail. It was cute.

  He was cute.

  His red hair was as dramatic as stage curtains, framing his slim, delicate nose, pouty pink lips, and the long lashes that fanned around his eyes. His purple eyes glowed dimly as they traced over me.

  Was he checking me out?

  Or worse, noticing I was doing the same to him?

  “Mister Beckett. Ewing.” Luxe addressed us while snagging the newcomer by the arm and tugging him forward. “Meet Cherry.”

  The incubus thrust his hand out to shake. I thought he had it angled toward me, but Livingston inserted himself yet again, bypassing the offered hand and reaching up Cherry’s arm all the way to where scarlet strands dusted his collarbone.

  “Cherry, hmm?” Livingston arched a brow. “A name like that promises a hell of a ride. Think you could sweep me off my feet, sweet thing?”

  He feathered his fingers across Cherry’s cheek, and the prickle I’d felt earlier turned into a sting. Angry heat I should have ignored before it escaped as a mutter.

  “I’m not paying double for twice the company.”

  Luxe’s eyes fluttered, perturbed at first, but rapidly shifting to something closer to humor.

  He saw right through me. If my interest was unmasked enough for a common demon to detect, the incubus in the room must have been sensing it in three dimensions.

  “Then it’s lucky you caught us on sale,” Luxe told me. “Buy one, get one free.”

  I wasn’t in a position to argue, so I tightened my jaw while the little demon added on.

  “Cherry and I will sit pretty while you wrap up whatever it is you’re doing here.”

  Livingston pulled away from Cherry and smirked. “That’s right, we’ll sit pretty, won’t we, darling?” Catching hold of Cherry’s wrist, he tugged him toward the couch.

  No sooner had the incubus passed by than did my gaze drift to his back, tracing the curve of his spine into the dip above his ass, which was pert and plumped with muscle. His thighs were shapely too. Every inch of him was lean and sinewy from his hips to his peeping toes, and I wanted to touch him. More than that, I wanted Livingston not to.

  Livingston whispered something in Cherry’s ear, earning a smile that made my heart stutter and my fists clench. With some guidance from Livingston, Cherry perched on his knee, and Luxe joined them while I stood, befuddled by my growing discomfort.

  With a targeted glance in my direction, Livingston fished into his coat pocket and pulled out a crisp bill. While folding it, he spoke again. “Beckett might not be willing to pay, but I’d empty my wallet for you, precious.” His hand and the money slid under the waistband of Cherry’s tiny shorts, and I almost choked on a growl.

  “He’s not a slot machine, for fuck’s sake.”

  Cherry looked at me, clearly perplexed. And pretty. Fuck. So pretty.

  Luxe may not have known it, but he’d been upstaged. Outclassed by an incubus in spandex.

  “You’re right, and I want a little more play,” Livingston told me while skimming a hand across Cherry’s back. He leaned in to whisper in the redhead’s ear again. “Have you ever seen the suites at the Basilica, honey?”

  Cherry’s eyes stayed on me as he replied, “No sir.”

  Livingston was keen to the dancer’s inattention, and he reached over, hooking a finger under Cherry’s chin and turning his head until they were face to face.

  “Would you like to?” Livingston asked.

  “The employees are here for ambiance, not acquisition,” I snapped, no longer able to smother my internal heat. “I’m the one you’re supposed to be doing business with. If you manage your company as carelessly as you’re managing this negotiation, it’s little wonder your son wants nothing to do with it.”

  Livingston sucked in a chest-swelling breath, making him look as inflated as a balloon ready to lift off. “You’d do well to watch your tone, devil.” He bit at the word. “I can take myself—and my business—elsewhere.”

  He acted like he had options, and he did. There were plenty of others who would flatter him and finagle until they wrote a deal so devilishly one-sided that Livingston would lose everything. His company would fall into infernal ownership, and his relationship with his son would be forfeited. Walking away now meant he could choose that, and I wouldn’t stop him.

  My lack of response drove Livingston to stand, and the incubus was nearly dumped on the floor in his haste.

  “You’re throwing away our deal over the décor?” He flung a hand toward Cherry and Luxe. “Why bring me here if not for some fun?”

  I crossed my arms and set my stance. “You’re the only one having fun, Ewing.”

  It seemed my comeback would have to wait. The deal was busted. I wasn’t looking forward to breaking the news to Colette, but I hoped she would understand.

  Understand what, though? I hadn’t even heard the man out. I was calling it quits over… not the décor. I wouldn’t call them that.

  My gaze flicked to the incubus. I wouldn’t call him that, no matter how nice he was to look at.

  Outside the suite, a voice from the DJ booth announced Cherry returning to the stage.

  The incubus plucked Livingston’s creased bill from his waistband and handed it to Luxe.

  “I uh, have to go.” With an apologetic smile, he darted onto the catwalk outside and out of sight.

  His departure left Livingston and me squared off while Luxe shifted on the sofa. He lacked only a bowl of popcorn to look like a theatergoer enjoying the show.

  “You should too,” I told Livingston. Then, in case it wasn’t clear, I added, “Go.”

  The other man swelled with a final puff of indignation, then took his leave, stomping onto the walkway outside the suite then disappearing into the crowd.

  He’d come here in my car, but I trusted him to find his own ride back to the Basilica. And to find someone besides Cherry to share that suite with because I’d inexplicably decided that the incubus was off-limits.

  Would I have let him touch Luxe like that? Dancers got fondled and groped all the time, and customers paid for the privilege. I supposed I might have permitted it if Luxe approved. I trusted the veteran performer to enforce his own boundaries. Why didn’t I believe the same of Cherry?

  From the couch, Luxe twirled a finger around the spiral of one of his horns while watching me with a Cheshire grin. “That was terribly chivalrous of you, Becky.”

  “Yeah, well, it shouldn’t be so damn hard to get some work done,” I grumbled.

  Tension fled my body on a sigh, and I glanced back to see the spotlights illuminating the stage and Cherry poised to take flight. Shuffling forward, I dropped onto the couch beside Luxe, who kicked one leg over the other and reclined.

  “Interesting choice of locale.” The dancer indicated the room with its gleaming pole table and smoking tray of shots. “For work.”

  My lip curled in a scowl. “What do you call what you’re doing?”

  “Me?” He turned his hand toward himself, feigning exaggerated innocence. “I’m just enhancing the décor.”

  I snorted and propped my elbows on my knees, then clasped my hands. I didn’t want to linger, but I also didn’t want to run into Livingston while he waited for a car outside. Most humans knew better than to pick a fight with the damned, but my client had proven not to be the smartest fellow in the room.

  “You gonna drink that?”

  Glancing up, I saw Luxe pointing at the Envy shot, a bright orange concoction I imagined would glow under black light.

  I shook my head.

  Luxe downed the drink in a single gulp, then returned the glass to the tray. I’d talked to him plenty of times over the years. He was personable and, in my opinion, too smart to be a stripper. I could enjoy his company, but I found my attention wandering toward the show in progress outside.

  Cherry hung perpendicular to the ground, his hair wild and his smile wide. It was different from the salacious looks the other performers wore. They knew they were in the market of seduction, but the incubus seemed to be selling something else entirely. Spectacle. Showmanship. Someone should tell him that shit went over better in a theater than a club.

  He smiled, his violet eyes glowed, and his stupid toes sparkled, and he was vibrant. I couldn’t recall the last time I’d seen someone look so utterly alive. Wrapped in the silks with his arms outstretched and not a pinch of worry on his face, he was blissful. Beautiful. And I didn’t care about my busted deal or how Luxe watched me stare, barely blinking, for the rest of the act. I couldn’t tear my gaze away if I tried.

  As Cherry completed his final descent, I was freed from my rapture. I reached for one of the remaining shot glasses, then hesitated at the name on the label. Lust. Shaking my head, I pushed the drink away. Something told me I’d already indulged in enough of that vice tonight.

  On stage, the incubus took a bow while onlookers tossed crumpled bills at his feet. Cherry waved and blew kisses to the audience before prancing toward the wings, leaving a stagehand to sweep up the small mountain of money.

  “He puts on a good show,” Luxe quipped.

  “Definitely,” I replied. “It’s nice to see some real talent.”

  The petite demon harrumphed. “Excuse you. I’m the realest talent in this club.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Of course.”

  His lips quirked in a smile as he glanced toward the now vacant stage. “Do you like him?”

  The words crawled over my skin. Clingy. Clumsy. Juvenile.

  Worse than that, they were inappropriate. I wasn’t the kind of man who “liked” a stripper. That delusion was for the gullible—for those who convinced themselves this was anything but a job for every dancer in this place.

  These were demons making deals, just like I did. I knew the game.

  And I wasn’t about to get played.

  Still, I decided to give Luxe a measure of grace by responding, “Seems like it would be difficult not to like him. Quality hire. You can tell Maz I said so. But I need to be going.” Pushing to standing, I smoothed down my suit coat and slacks.

  Luxe leaped up after me. “What’s the rush? He’s coming back.”

  I hummed through a nod. “Good. You can show him some other rooms. And customers a bit more lively than me.”

  When I stepped toward the door, Luxe slid around to block it. “Do you really want him seeing other customers?” He tipped his head, and the dainty chains looped around his horns sparkled. “Especially lively ones?”

  My frown returned in force. “I don’t know what you’re getting at.”

  I moved to bypass him, but the smaller man wouldn’t be dodged.

  “You can talk to him, you know,” he pressed. “There’s no charge for that.”

  Why the hard sell? I may have let my poker face slip earlier, but that didn’t mean I was an easy mark. And like I’d told Livingston, this wasn’t that kind of establishment.

  “My driver is waiting,” I said while making one more bid to exit.

  Before I reached the door, it opened, framing the incubus perfectly between glass panes. His gaze darted from me to Luxe.

  “Cherry,” Luxe greeted him. “Mister Beckett was just saying how much he enjoyed your performance.”

  Cherry’s eyes widened. The smile that had been dazzling under the spotlights was shy now, a flash of fanged teeth and a blush.

  “Oh,” he said. “Thank you.”

  Did he know how fucking cute he was?

  Luxe clapped his hands delightedly. He craned his neck to peer past Cherry into the area outside, where the other executive suites were bustling.

  “Looks like I’m needed across the way,” Luxe said. He made a dramatic show of tugging up his billowing sleeve and checking his wrist for a nonexistent watch before winking at me. “You have a little time left on the clock, Becky. Why not make the most of it?”

  With that, he was off. Skipping down the catwalk toward the next room over and leaving me alone with the incubus who I definitely, most certainly, did not like.

  CHAPTER

  FIVE

  Zephyr

  Darby called it a “warm handoff” but, alone in the executive suite with the man I knew only as “Mister Beckett,” I felt cold.

  The bulk of the chill came from Beck himself. Buttoned up in a suit that even smelled expensive, he was just the right side of imposing. Taller than me and broader, with dark hair and yellow eyes that alternated between sharp and shrewd and faintly, maybe, soft when his gaze rested on me.

  I’d hurried off the stage after my act, then passed through the dressing room to spritz on cologne and wipe the sweat off my face. I probably took some makeup with it, but I told myself the flush of exertion was better than artificial blush.

  I doubted that while Beck studied me now, his expression not half as admiring as I needed it to be. When I’d come in earlier, I tasted his lust. It had a unique flavor, different from the humans who flocked through the Dollhouse’s doors. He was a demon; I could tell. A powerful one wearing an equally powerful glamor. Maslow wore a glamor too, but his human façade wasn’t nearly as appealing as Beck’s.

  I felt awkward standing there, unsure what to do with my hands or, really, any of me. Settling at last on linking my fingers at my waist, I peered up at Beck and hoped my smile didn’t falter.

  “You, uh, liked my routine?”

  He gave a crisp nod. “I did. You’re talented. If a bit of a showoff.”

  The compliment struck me backhanded, and it took a moment for my thoughts to fall into line. What he said and what I sensed were vastly different. Not to mention his haste to shoo the other man out of here had been possessive. Protective. But now, he seemed ready to shoo me out too.

  “It’s what the people pay for,” I said with a shrug.

  Beck scoffed. “Not people like Ewing Livingston. He wanted to buy you by the pound.”

  I’d sensed that too. Livingston’s touches had been like Maslow’s, and his looks equally leering. It was something I was supposed to get used to, the way men placed hands and weighty glances on things they wanted. They staked claims on me as if I were a property they could possess. But I was already owned by the wraith who ran this club, so their bids were for rental, not residence. Short-term use.

  “Did you enthrall him?”

  Beck’s voice roused me from thought. I studied his face. His strong jaw was lightly stubbled and flecked with gray. Hard the way I imagined his body could be. Certain parts of it, anyway.

  “Did I what?” I asked.

  His dark brows drew a stern line across his forehead. “Bewitch. Charm. Livingston. Or me.”

  Could I do that? To another demon?

  The accusation in his glare made me doubt, and it also made me sad in a way I didn’t fully understand.

  “I didn’t.” I shook my head before adding more definitively, “No.”

  Beck nodded. “Well, I’m sorry for sending him away. I didn’t consider that he could have been a meal for you.”

  He could have been. That was what Maslow wanted. Not at some offsite hotel suite, though. In the room down the hall where the event could be captured on film and then sold for profit. The idea made my skin itch.

  “I thought it was nice,” I mumbled.

  I thought you were nice too.

  The music outside changed to the first song from Oz’s act, and a shrill chorus of female cheers rang out.

  I pressed closer to Beck, untangling my hands and reaching out. I slid them into the warmth of his suit jacket and hooked my fingers onto the smooth leather line of his belt. This was what men did when they wanted something, and I needed to show him I wanted him. Make him believe it.

  “I’d, um…” I swallowed. “I could thank you.”

  His amber eyes angled downward as though he could see where I gripped him. “You really don’t need to.”

  I crowded him while my heart pumped faster, and my breath puffed short and shallow. “But I’d like to… show my appreciation.”

  When I fumbled toward his belt buckle, I expected him to pull away. Instead, he grabbed my wrist and stopped me mid-motion. I waited, frozen by the severity in his glare.

  “What is this?” he growled. “Is Maslow expanding into prostitution now?”

  It was direct, but he’d been that way from the start. About everything.

  “Well…” My fingers curled in a partial retreat. “Yeah.”