Revenant (Paris Mob Book 2) by Michelle St. James

Author:Michelle St. James [St. James, Michelle]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780997546453
Publisher: Blackthorn Press
Published: 2016-10-17T21:00:00+00:00

22

The house was crowded with people, all of them dressed in tuxedos and ball gowns that would have been perfectly at home at a black tie gala. Charlotte was glad for the Siriano dress, the Louboutin shoes, the gorgeous men flanking her as they made their through the entry.

The house was enormous and very old, probably built by some Spanish ruler in the 19th century. Christophe nodded at a few people as they navigated the crowd, working their way toward a bar set up in the front parlor. He ordered drinks, and she took advantage of the time to get her bearings.

The room was large and high-ceilinged, the walls paneled with deep white moldings and cornices. Across the room — opposite the bar — a string quartet had moved from Brahms to Chopin. The floor in between was crowded with elegant men and women, all of them talking and laughing as if it were the most natural thing in the world to be hidden away in a mansion on the coast of Cuba, preparing to purchase art that may have been lost or stolen for decades.

Her eyes caught on one woman in particular. Unlike the other guests, she stood alone near the piano, surveying the crowd with interest as she held a glass between long fingers. Her black hair fell in waves around her shoulders, bare in a strapless black gown. In contrast with the other guests, most of whom seemed to be celebrating their acquisitions in advance, she looked studious, almost severe. Her gaze caught on Charlotte’s, held it until Charlotte grew uncomfortable with the cold-eyed assessment and looked away.

“Here you are, darling.” Christophe handed her a martini, and they clinked glasses with Julien.

“To fate,” Christophe said, his gaze lingering on hers. “And to finding that which has been lost.”

A shiver ran up her spine, bare to the top of her ass thanks to the dress.

“What now?” Charlotte asked.

“Now we register,” Christophe said.

He led her through the crowd, back out into the hall and into another room with a line of people standing before a Baroque desk. Everyone in line had a briefcase or duffle bag, and Charlotte couldn’t help wondering how much money was collectively represented in the room. Hundreds of thousands? Millions?

They’d been waiting for less than five minutes when she caught a chill on the back of her neck. The fine hair on her arms rose, and she turned to find the woman from the front parlor standing behind them. She greeted Charlotte’s smile with an appraising gaze, her eyes dropping to the silver case in Julien’s hand. Charlotte assumed the guest list was kept confidential, but the woman seemed to revel in some secret knowledge. Charlotte forced herself to turn around. The woman’s demeanor was probably a psychological tactic desired to unnerve anyone who might bid against her later.

The line moved quickly, the attendees obviously vetted in advance, the cash a formality. They reached the front of the line less than ten minutes after they arrived, and Christophe handed the silver case to two suited men behind the desk.

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