Page 12 of Take Me Under

“Princess,” I said, nudging her awake. “Let’s get you to a bed.”

I held out my hand. She hesitated before accepting, but resignation came fast, and she allowed me to help her to her feet.

“Thanks,” she murmured as I snaked an arm around her lower back.

Guiding her inside, the soft leather seats in the SUV offered a stark contrast to the hard bench she’d just been sitting on. As we settled into the comfort of the vehicle, her fatigue became even more evident. She rested her head against the door and closed her eyes again.

Zeke muscled the car through the clogged streets as I relayed orders on where to take Serena. Once we exited the secure perimeter around the Met, the roads filled with stop and go traffic, and people rushed in every direction. Bags of trash were piled several feet high in some places, waiting for the city waste management to haul them away. Some found it off-putting. To me, it was just another part of Manhattan.

When we reached the Midtown, I glanced out the window. A homeless woman lay huddled against the front of the building to the left of the hotel’s main entrance. To the right, two men stood close to one another. One man was casually smoking a cigarette, discreetly holding out his free hand to accept whatever the second man was offering.

A drug deal.

I glanced down at Serena once more, and a nagging sense of responsibility needled at me.

Fuck.

I couldn’t leave her here. I knew I was going to regret the choice I was about to make, but I went with it anyway.

“Zeke, change of plan. To the penthouse instead.”

CHAPTER FIVE

Serena

Iwoke up with my cheek resting on a soft pillow. My head hurt, the throbbing ache settling just over my left eye, and my ears were plugged. But worse was the heaviness of my body, as if it would take every ounce of strength I had just to lift my head.

Slowly, I focused my gaze on the room. I didn’t recognize the palette of rich colors—midnight blues, velvety purples, and muted golds. Elegant furnishing and décor surrounded a four-poster king-sized bed draped in satin. Lavish details extended to every corner, none of which were an extravagance afforded at the hotel I was supposed to be staying at.

This has to be a dream.

I blinked and tried to get my bearings. Tall, floor to ceiling windows revealed that it was nighttime. A flash of lightning in the distance transcended the barrier of the glass walls, blurringthe lines between the room and the open sky beyond, leaving me suspended in air.

I looked around for a clock, or anything that would show me the time. I glanced at the nightstand, hoping to find my phone. Unfortunately, it held only a glass of water, a bottle of ibuprofen, and a cloth in a small ceramic basin.

I spotted my purse tossed haphazardly on a chaise lounge across the room along with a red gown.

The gown. The gala. The mysterious man with onyx eyes.

All at once, everything came flooding back. I pressed my fingers to my temples, recalling the events.

I’d struggled through the evening with what I’d suspected to be the onset of a flu. My mind had been anything but clear, and I’d found myself in the middle of too many pointless discussions. I hadn’t been able to zero in on my priorities at all, and the entire evening had been a bust. I’d left without having made a single meaningful connection—which also meant I’d failed to get the funding I needed to continue the excavation in Rome.

The idea that I might not be able to continue my father’s work brought on mixed emotions. I should be devastated, yet all I felt was an odd mix of disappointment and relief. I’d have to evaluate the conflicting reactions once I was feeling more like myself.

I thought about Anton, the stranger who made me foolishly believe that I could actually get a leg up at an event as prestigious as the Met Gala.

Trustfall my ass.

He’d made me drop my guard and then abandoned me to the wolves.

Why did he leave so abruptly?

More images from the gala flashed in my mind. Across from me had sat a stunning man with ice-blue eyes and silver streaks at his temples. I’d recognized him instantly as Jace LeMont, anAcademy Award-winning actor who had starred in last year’s highest-grossing film.

Then there was the woman who’d sat beside him. She was beautiful, dressed in a revealing blue gown with drastic pointed shoulders and a plunging neckline. I hadn’t recognized her but assumed she must have been someone important to be on the arm of such a high-profile celebrity. They’d oozed elegance and poise, their movements graceful as they casually sipped their drinks served in the crystal, gold-rimmed glasses, completely at ease with themselves and their surroundings while I’d struggled just to keep down the hors d'oeuvre I’d consumed.

But then there was the older gentleman with a thick southern accent sitting next to me. His name was Allister Graham, a collector of ancient artifacts and an interested investor who could have possibly provided the funding I needed. The conversation I’d struck with him had potential—until his hand found his way to my leg under the table.

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