Catwoman: Soulstealer (DC Icons #3)(26)

So Selina had learned the status symbols that women wielded and the ones men used to declare to each other that they were as wealthy as kings.

But that twenty-thousand-dollar watch on his wrist was nothing compared to the ten-million-dollar painting that waited for her in this museum.

Luke Fox would certainly need a lot more champagne before the night was through.



* * *



—

Luke could barely focus on the conversation he was having. He kept scanning the room, listening for any whisper of alarm. Nothing.

His two prep school friends—Elise and Mark, now running their own joint hedge fund—were debating the merits of which reality TV show was the worst to watch. Luke drowned it out, as he often did when their conversations skewed toward the absurd. A skill both Elise and Mark took pride in. Enjoyed.

But half listening to their banter was better than his dad not-so-subtly sending Luke to the bar to get his mom champagne, hoping he’d run into at least one of the young women of which his parents had approved.

At least he’d avoided the few older women who stared at him like a piece of meat, whose devouring glances he’d never been able to stomach or grow used to.

Still, he’d never ordered a drink faster—only to wind up next to Holly at the bar.

He’d seen that creep CEO she’d been dancing with. They’d match perfectly.

He’d given his mom her champagne, then made a beeline for his friends, standing together by the window, as they usually did. As the three of them had done at every school party and event while growing up.

Their own little unit, inseparable. Even if Mark, who he’d known since seventh grade, had been secretly in love with Elise for years. But Elise, who was likely the closest thing Luke had to a best friend, had no idea.

Elise, golden-skinned and dark-haired, smiled at him as he approached, but didn’t pause her arguing with Mark.

Mark, however, seemed unaware of anyone else in the ballroom with Elise in front of him, only occasionally breaking his focus to drag a hand through his blond hair.

That focus, however, finally broke when Mark turned to Luke. “You’re quiet tonight, man.” A frown crossed his face, his brown eyes fixing on Luke with a piercing intensity different from the way he’d been looking at Elise. “Everything okay?”

Elise sipped from her champagne, watching Luke over the rim of the glass. While Mark was usually direct, Elise knew when to observe, when to wield silence as effectively as words.

After a heartbeat, she said to Luke, “You kind of look the way you did that time in junior year English when Mr. Bartleby said we had to compose love sonnets for the midterm paper.” Genius, Luke might be; poet, he was definitely not.

Mark tipped back his head and laughed. Luke smiled, throwing Elise a grateful look for the deflection as he admitted, “It was the worst grade I ever got in my life.” A sorry C-minus. “I think Bartleby deliberately marked it down because of the face I made when he announced the assignment.”

“You and me both,” Mark said, nudging him with an elbow. “Though I still think I deserved more than a C. My poem was epic.”

“You both deserved exactly what you got,” Elise retorted. “For writing a poem about your love of donuts,” she said, jerking her chin at Mark. She then pointed at Luke. “And a sonnet about your love of not writing sonnets.”

Luke and Mark rolled their eyes. “We were robbed,” Mark declared. Elise, of course, had aced the assignment.

Luke surveyed his friends. Mark and Elise had been the only ones who’d really supported him when he’d declared he was enlisting. When Luke had said he didn’t want to go to college, to deal with more of the same in the Ivy League circuit, and instead wanted to do something. Wanted to serve.

Even when their other friends had pretended to understand, even when Luke knew they thought he was making a bad choice, Elise and Mark had encouraged him. When he was overseas, they had written to him and video chatted.

Both had been there the day after he’d come back. Mark had cried when he saw the still-healing wound slashing down Luke’s ribs. Elise had taken out her phone and started to research physical therapy treatments.

They never asked about the PTSD, but they knew. And though he wasn’t ashamed of it, he remained deeply grateful they let him bring it up on his terms. That it mostly remained out of their friendship dynamic for now. Glad to have some semblance of things being the same.

“Things are fine,” Luke said, meeting Elise’s weighing stare. She seemed to read the truth in the words, and gave him a slight nod. Luke gave Mark a grin. “One gala into the season, and I’m bored to tears.”

Elise put an affronted hand on her chest, gold bracelets and rings glittering. “You mean to tell me that our highly intellectual debate about the top ten reality show breakups isn’t enough to entertain you?”

Mark scowled at them both but couldn’t hide the amusement from his face.

Neither could Luke as he said, “If you two were at every event, it wouldn’t be so bad.”

“You couldn’t pay me to go to more than three of these a year,” Mark said. Elise murmured in agreement. “I’m all for giving to charity, but does a party have to be involved as well? My parents don’t even bother to go anymore.” He waved a callused hand to the sparkling room around them. Mark had always been into crew—still took out a boat at least once a week on the Sprang River. “They told me this summer that I had to go now. That they’d done their time, and now it was my turn to represent the family.” And deal with the socialite crowd, Mark didn’t need to add.