Steele-Faced (Daggers & Steele Book 6) by Alex P. Berg Read Free Book Online Page A

instructed to leave your room alone anyway. We don’t want anyone prying. Too much on the line. So, who’s got which room? Or are we sharing? Actually, forget I ever said that. It’s, uh…none of my business. Man, I need to stop talking. Maybe I’ll just leave the bags here in the sitting room. Does that work?”
    “That’ll be fine, Steck,” said Steele. “Thank you.”
    The grandfather clock clicked and whirred, and its chimes sounded. Steck glanced at its face. “Holy harvest. Six already? We’ll be casting off any minute now. You two should head to the mixer. All of your competitors should be there. It’ll be a good opportunity to feel them out.”
    “Great minds think alike,” said Steele. “Daggers, why don’t you change into your tuxedo.”
    “You’re kidding, right?” I drew my hands across my suit. “You’re telling me this isn’t formal enough?”
    “For a mixer, yes,” said Steele. “For the grand ball that follows it, no. So please change.”
    Steele unbuttoned her coat and shrugged out of it, finally revealing what she wore underneath: an off the shoulder mermaid ball gown in a brilliant scarlet satin. The top half hugged her chest and waist and hips tightly while the bottom flared out at the knees, though it had been bundled and pinned just below that to keep from dragging. Apart from the shape of her calves, it left startlingly little to the imagination.
    Steele bent over and undid the pins, letting the dress unfurl and cover her toes. When she straightened, she glanced at me, her brows furrowed. “Daggers?”
    I tested my jaw. It still worked. “Um. Yes. I’ll, uh…be changing into my tux now.”
     

8
    I stretched my neck as I walked arm in arm with Steele along the interior of the promenade deck. “I still don’t know about this bowtie, Shay. Maybe I should’ve gone with the ascot.”
    My partner gave me a once over. “The bowtie is classic. I chose it for a reason.”
    “That reason wouldn’t have anything to do with comfort, would it?”
    Shay shot me a cool look. “We could trade shoes if you like.”
    “Point taken. But honestly, how do I look?”
    Shay sighed and rolled her eyes. “You know, for someone who puts as little effort into his day to day attire as you do, you sure can be insecure. You don’t see me constantly looking for reassurance about my dress.”
    “That’s not a fair comparison,” I said. “You look amazing.”
    “Flattery will get you nowhere.” Shay’s smile said otherwise. “But for the record, you look quite handsome. Like a rich playboy with little regard for expense. So start acting like it. We’re almost there.”
    Ahead of us, one of the ship’s crew admitted individuals into the lounge where the mixer was being held. For a moment, I wondered if I’d need a ticket for admission, but apparently our dress was proof enough of our status for the doorman. He immediately let us in with a flourish of his hands and a deep bow.
    Inside, the lounge much resembled our own sitting room except for being larger, better lit, and more densely populated. Roughly a hundred people milled around the interior, sipping on drinks, chatting, and smoking pipes or cigarettes. A trio of bartenders at the far side of the room furiously rattled cocktail shakers and poured drinks, while waiters and waitresses in black jackets and slacks roamed the room bearing trays of deviled eggs, smoked salmon and dill crostini, and shrimp half-submerged in shot glasses of cocktail sauce.
    Steele and I drifted toward the center of the room. I eyed the line at the bar, but before I could make a decision on whether or not to dive into the fray, a waiter approached with a tray of tall flutes.
    “Champagne?”
    “Why yes, thank you,” said Steele as she took one.
    I’d made my distaste of wine known to Shay on multiple occasions, but the dry nature of champagne made it a slightly different beast. I lifted a flute off the tray by the stem and nodded my thanks to the