The Ultimate Seduction. Dani Collins

of it exploded into flames against the wrought-iron exit gate.

      “This is all very interesting.” It wasn’t. Not at all. “But I’m in the middle of something. You’ll have to sort this out yourselves.”

      “Tiffany.”

      Her father’s stern tone was the one that made any good daughter spin, take a stance of dutifully planted feet, knees locked, hands knotted at her sides. She caught her tongue firmly between her teeth. “Yes?”

      “Our friends in Congress are hoping for good relations with Bregnovia. I need those friends.”

      Because his hat was in the ring for the next election. Why was that always the only thing that mattered?

      “I don’t know what you expect me to do. Pitch our services while wearing a showgirl costume? Who would take that seriously? I can’t go into a meeting without it, though. No one likes face-to-face interactions with this.” She pointed at where her ear had been reconstructed and a cheekbone implant inserted.

      Her father flinched and looked away, not denying that she was hard to look at. That hurt more than the months of screaming burn injuries.

      “Maybe I could be your date,” Christian said. “I don’t know if members are allowed to bring an escort, but...”

      “Bring my brother to the prom?” That certainly reinforced how far down the eligibility ladder she’d fallen. Her hands stayed curled at her sides, but mentally she cupped them around her tiny, shrunken heart, protecting it. Love yourself, Tiff. No one else will.

      “Get me into the club and you won’t have to leave your room until it’s over,” Chris said.

      Hide the disfigured beast.

      She had to close her eyes against her father’s intense stare, the one that willed her to comply.

      You weren’t going to let yourself be a pawn anymore, she reminded herself.

      “How long is this thing?” she heard herself ask, because what kind of family would she have, if not this one? Her friends had deserted her, and dating was completely off the table. Her life would be very dark and lonely if she alienated her parents and brother.

      “We arrive at sunset on Friday night, and everyone is gone by Sunday evening. I’ll make the travel arrangements,” Christian said with quick relief.

      “I wear this thing in and out. That’s the deal, because I won’t do this if I’m going to be stared at.” Listen to her, talking so tough. She was actually scared to her toenails. What would people say if they saw her? She couldn’t let it happen.

      “As far as I know, everyone wears masks the whole time,” Chris said, practically dancing, he was so elated.

      “I’ll be in my office,” she muttered. Searching for my spine.

      * * *

      Ryzard Vrbancic abided by few rules beyond his own, but he left his newly purchased catamaran as the shadow of its mast stretched across the other boats in the Venezuelan marina. If he didn’t climb the stairs before the red sky had inked purple, he would be locked out of the Q Virtus Quarterly.

      Story of my life, he thought, but hoped that soon he’d be as welcome worldwide as the famous black credit card.

      Security was its usual discreet step through a well-camouflaged metal detector that also read the chip in his mask. One of the red-gowned staff lifted her head from her tablet as he arrived and smiled. “We’re pleased to see you again, Raptor. May I escort you to your room?”

      She was a pretty thing, but the petite q’s were off-limits, which was a pity. He hadn’t had time to find himself a lover for weeks. The last had complained he spent more time working than with her, which was apparent from her spa and shopping bills. They were as high as his sexual frustration.

      His situation should improve now, but he’d have to be patient a little longer. Like the music that set a vacation tone, the petite q’s provided atmosphere. They could stroke an ego, dangle off an arm, flirt and indulge almost any reasonable request, but if they wanted to keep their job, they stayed out of the members’ beds. Being smart and career minded along with attractive and engaging, the petite q’s tended to side with keeping their jobs.

      Such a pity.

      His current escort set up his thumbprint for the door then stepped inside his suite for his briefing. “You have a meeting request from Steel Butterfly. Shall I confirm?”

      “A woman?” he asked.

      “I don’t have the gender of our clients, sir.”

      And if she did know, she wouldn’t say, either.

      “No other requests?” He was hoping for a signal from international bodies that his petition to the UN was receiving a nod.

      “Not at this time. Did you have any?”

      Damn. He’d come here knowing he had a meeting request, hoping it would be a tip of the hand on his situation. Now he was under lockdown and liable to be taking a sales pitch of some kind.

      “Not at present. I’ll accept an introduction on that one, nothing longer.” He nodded at her tablet.

      “The time and location will be transmitted to your smartwatch. Please let us know if I can arrange anything else to ensure your satisfaction while you’re with us.”

      He followed her out, confident that everything he’d preordered was in the suite. Zeus was exceptionally good at what he did. Ryzard had never had an issue of any kind while at Q Virtus, which made the exorbitant membership fee and elaborate travel and security arrangements worth the trouble.

      Entering the pub-style reception lounge, he saw roughly thirty people, mostly men in tuxedos and masks. They stood with a handful of gorgeous petite q’s wearing the customary red designer gowns.

      He accepted the house drink for this session, rum over ice with a squeeze of lime and a sugared rim, then glanced at his watch. At his four o’clock, a collection of dots informed him the small conclave of men to his right included Steel Butterfly.

      He had no idea where Zeus came up with these ridiculous nicknames, but he supposed Raptor was apt for him, coming from the Latin meaning to seize or take by force. The bones of several dinosaurs in that category had been uncovered in his homeland of Bregnovia, too.

      Eyeing the group, he wondered which one was his contact. One accepted a drink from a petit q and handed her his watch. It didn’t matter, he decided. He wasn’t interested in beginning a conversation in public that he was scheduled to have in private tomorrow. He waited until he was out of range in the gambling hall to activate his identity on his own watch. This resulted in an immediate invitation to join the blackjack table.

      He sat so he could read the screen mounted near the ceiling in the corner. It subtly manifested and dissolved with blurbs on presentations and entertainment to be held over the course of the Q Virtus Quarterly. Tastemakers, trendsetters and thought leaders were flown in to provide rich, powerful, political forces such as himself with the absolute cutting-edge information and samples of global economics and technology. Meanwhile, at tables such as this one, he would pick up the other side of the coin: gossip about a royal’s addiction, a cover-up of a coup attempt on a head of state, a lie that would be accepted as truth to stem international panic.

      He could only imagine what was said about him, but he didn’t let himself dwell on what was likely disapproval and distrust. His people were free, his country independent. That was the important thing.

      Still, thoughts of what it had cost him crept in, threatening to inject disappointment and guilt into an otherwise pleasant if staid evening. He folded his hand, left the table and lifted a rum off a passing waiter’s tray as he moved outside in search of entertainment.

       CHAPTER TWO

      TIFFANY