Molly sat on the private room's sofa, surveying the row of handsome men standing before her. She frowned slightly.
"Not a single one?" Kirsten asked.
"They're all pretty enough, but 'pretty' isn't really a compliment for a man."
Kirsten flopped sideways on the sofa, shooting her a look. "Compared to that devastatingly handsome face of his, these guys do fall short."
Miles's appeal came from the inside out—that presence, that bearing. His looks were almost secondary.
Molly had sharp taste. Having snagged someone like Miles, of course everyone else seemed bland by comparison.
Molly flipped through the stack of résumés, pulled out four, and handed them over. "Your studio's talent auditions have turned into some kind of imperial consort selection."
"This selection is just for you. He never satisfied you anyway—let these four make up for your three wasted years."
Felix had been standing at the door for a while. Only after Miles stalked off with a thunderous expression did he push it open. "Molly, my brother wants to see you about something."
Molly blinked, confused. "Didn't he go home?"
The largest VIP room at the July Club was dimly lit, shadows mingling with silhouettes. Yet Molly spotted Miles immediately, seated in the center.
It wasn't his striking looks that drew her eye. In this den of indulgence, every man had a woman draped over his arm—except Miles. He sat alone, a cigarette between his fingers, watching the room through a veil of smoke with detached indifference.
As a wife, she supposed she should feel some satisfaction that her husband kept himself so... pristine.
But when that same husband wouldn't lay a finger on his own wife? That was infuriating.
In this moment, Molly truly envied Sibyl.
Miles had noticed her the instant she walked in—specifically, her waist. A gray blouse tucked into high-waisted black trousers, the cut accentuating how slender she was, how easily his hands could span her.
"Ms. Harding, I could wrap one hand around that waist and lift you right up," someone called out, punctuating the comment with a whistle.
Molly glanced at him. "Why don't you try later? Let's see if you actually can."
As she spoke, Miles rose from the sofa.
When he reached her side, she caught his scent—sandalwood and tobacco, faint but unmistakable. She followed him out.