He shifted. The last thing he needed was to get aroused as they walked into a dangerous, rash situation. “Wow.”
She clutched the bodice to her chest. “I’m not accustomed to wearing formal clothes.”
“Well, it works for you.” Wait, did that sound like he was complaining about her usual wardrobe? “That is, everything works on you. You always look good.” He shut his mouth before he continued babbling. It was true, Mira always looked attractive, but she was a bombshell in this. The neckline dipped low, and her round breasts rose over it, shoved up and out by the snug material. The fabric was shiny and metallic, like someone had taken her body and dipped it in liquid silver. Her heels were ice pick thin, and she didn’t look entirely comfortable on them, but he hoped they weren’t causing her too much pain. Her lipstick was a dark berry, and her eyes and the tops of her cheekbones glittered with a rose gold glow. Sunil had even given her jewelry; silver bangles adorned each wrist.
“Thanks. Uh, so do you.”
He twitched his suit jacket aside. It wasn’t too different from what he’d worn before he’d been forced to change into leather pants and a bow tie. Sunil had told him this was one of their Bachelorette fantasy costumes, whatever that meant. In monochromatic blue, he hoped he could pass for Sin City cool. “Thanks. Are you ready?”
She turned around, flipping her hair to one shoulder. “Can you zip me up?” Her back was long and bare, her black bra a stripe across the honey-brown expanse of her skin.
Oh man.
He’d wanted to see her from behind in her waitress outfit, but this was nearly as good. No thong visible, but nearly as intimate.
He grasped the zipper pull. When it got midway, he had to hold the fabric taut to finish it. His knuckles brushed her flesh as he dragged it up and he didn’t think he imagined the shiver that ran through her.
She slipped back into the car. He went around the hood, shaking his head to clear it of his pesky attraction. Get your head back in the game. This was your idea, now follow through.
They drove to the address Sunil had emailed to them, cruising down massive tree-lined streets. They followed a Bentley past a large set of open gold gates. That was good; it meant they weren’t so late as to be noticeable.
“You looked at the blueprints?” Mira asked. Her body had grown more tense with every minute.
“I did.” He’d been blessed with a fairly decent spatial memory. He patted his jacket pocket. “Got ’em on the phone, too, no worries.”
“Wyatt’s probably increased his security for the party,” she fretted.
“Then we walk in and walk right back out. It’s not like he’s going to pull a gun on us during a gathering, Mira.” He hoped he sounded much more confident than he was. It was true, he didn’t think anyone would pull a gun on their guests during a party, but then again, he hadn’t dealt with anyone as rich as this. Wyatt was Illuminati rich, and maybe they had ritual sacrifices at their charity events and no one batted an eye.
He stopped at the valet and got out of their car. Mira rested her hand on his arm as they walked up the steps behind the svelte blond couple who had exited the Bentley. Naveen’s date’s body was tense and tight, and he squeezed her hand in silent comfort. “Relax,” he murmured.
“I don’t know how I’m supposed to do that.”
“Imagine everyone naked.” I’ve already done that with you.
“I always found that advice suspect. Got anything else?”
He tossed his glib advice aside and considered her question seriously. As an adult, people considered him an extrovert, and he could be one, but he’d also been a scrawny nerdy kid who no one wanted to play with or date. He’d learned to navigate social situations with a drink in his hand. Doing it without was much harder, not that he’d had many opportunities in the last couple years.
You’ve been hiding.
Yes. He had. And now he couldn’t. But that was okay, because he had all the tools to do this inside of him. “Fake it. Pretend like you belong, even if you feel like you don’t.”
She averted her gaze. “Fake it. I’m good at that.” He wasn’t sure if those words were a reminder for him or her.
Mira lifted her chin and lengthened her stride. Naveen’s confidence lasted only until they were facing a smiling Black woman in a red couture dress at the door, wearing a headset and holding an iPad. A heavyset man stood behind her. The guy was visibly security, and visibly bored with the gig.
Naveen was over bouncers. Did every place in Vegas have someone lurking outside it, ready to shove people out?
“Welcome, what’s your name?”
“Amira Patel,” Mira said, so authoritatively, even he believed her.
The woman scrolled. And scrolled.
A trickle of sweat worked its way down Naveen’s neck. Mira had emailed Sunil her alias in response to the blueprints he’d sent, but had the guy managed to get them on the list? The last thing Naveen liked to do was impose himself, a result of having parents who had been just rich enough that they didn’t mind imposing themselves anywhere. His cheeks were ready to light up at their being caught sneaking into a fancy party.
Think about your family. And Mira. Fake whatever you need to fake.
He firmed his lips and watched the woman. She paused, and her nail tapped the screen. “Here we go. Thank you so much for coming, and for your generous contribution.” She pulled wristbands out of her pocket. They weren’t the paper ones you might get at a festival, but gold-plated bracelets. Or possibly not plated, but actual gold.
Illuminati. Nonetheless, Naveen allowed the woman to click the bracelet around his wrist, and Mira did the same. He paid semi-attention as she directed them to enjoy the party.
He breathed a sigh of relief when they passed the bouncer and entered the courtyard of the home. The mansion was built around a huge green space, and that was where the event was taking place. A string quartet played on a dais in the middle of the estate. Tuxedoed servers passed by with champagne and appetizers. “First hurdle down,” he murmured to Mira. “Should we get a drink?” People always paid less attention to a person with a drink in their hand.
“Might as well.”
Mira tugged at her dress as they moved through the crowd. She was dressed no differently than other women here, and many of the men wore clothes similar to Naveen’s. They fit in physically, at the very least. As unobtrusively as possible, his gaze climbed the four-story structure all around them, trying to line up the windows with the blueprint in his mind.
If only his grandmother were still around. She’d taught architecture. She would have been able to figure out the diagrams and would have had a blast on this caper.
They stopped at the bar. He got a ginger ale. Mira ordered a Coke. He wondered if she felt odd ordering alcohol after he’d told her about his sobriety. “I don’t mind if you drink around me, by the way.” Aparna occasionally had a drink in his presence, and it hadn’t tempted him.
“I need to keep a clear head.” Her gaze scanned the courtyard. “So you haven’t drank in a while?”
“Nope. Not since I went to rehab.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “Oh. What was rehab like?”
“It was actually nice. Quiet. Calm. I’d been working around the clock at the firm then, so it was kind of like my first vacation in years. Once I left, I went into a twelve-step program.” He’d taken some helpful tools from Alcoholics Anonymous, though he preferred to talk to a therapist individually.