_Pierre’s POV_
“What are you doing here?” I asked. It came out tired rather than sharp, which was probably accurate to how the whole evening had felt by that point.
Ezekiel raised his glass slightly, looking unbothered. “The club is open to everyone. Or did you think it had a guest list with my name conveniently absent from it.”
I glared at him.
He smiled like that had been the entire goal of the sentence.
I looked back at my drink and didn’t give him anything else to work with.
“Something’s bothering you,” he pointed. Not a question. Just an observation set down on the table between us, plain and unhurried, the way you’d point out the weather.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I said.
“Fine,” he said, easily, like it cost him nothing at all, and I appreciated, des
