Chapter 37

“Marc, this is too much,” Sinead murmured. He’d driven them, and she hadn’t figured out where they were going until they pulled up in front of the Royal Ontario Museum and a valet had taken the keys to park the car. A red carpet was rolled out from the main entrance to the big, old building and spotlights were illuminating it like there should have been celebrities taking photo ops and interviews before a movie premier or award show. There were plenty of people, and some of them might have actually been celebrities, but the signs all proclaimed the event to be some sort of a fundraiser.

“What do you mean, Detective?” Marc asked. He’d offered her his arm and she’d taken it, and now they were waiting in line to have their invitations checked.

“All of this,” Sinead said. “The dress, and the event. We shouldn’t be seen together in such a public place?”

“Why not?” Marc asked.

“Because it’s not right!” Sinead hissed. Despite the chill in the evening air, she could feel her cheeks flushing.

“It’s not right that I bring a beautiful acquaintance to a fundraising event as my guest?” Marc asked.

Sinead ignored the fact that her stomach knotted when he called her an ‘acquaintance.’ “So this isn’t a date?”

“Ma chère, none of what we have been doing has been dating,” Marc said quietly. “You made it very clear, that first time I invited you to dinner, that you were not interested in such a thing. This is simply another of our adventures.”

Sinead grimaced and looked away down the street. Part of Avenue Rd, leading down to Queens Park, was blocked off and had Paid Duty officers manning the traffic directions. She didn’t recognise any of them immediately and hoped that would stay true. The last thing she needed was someone asking questions. Well, beyond Jules.

That worry was a distraction from what she was feeling about what he said, though. All of this - this trading, and the teasing, and the fucking buttplug, was because Sinead had refused to sit down and have a dinner with the man. She’d blown him off. Now she kept thinking of when she’d blown him, kneeling naked in his living room.

Sinead had acted like a cunt, and now she was being treated like one.

“Sinead,” Marc said, snapping her out of her thoughts. “Tonight is about having fun. You look like you’ve sucked on a lemon.”

“Maybe that’s what it’s like, getting dragged places without being told where we’re going,” Sinead retorted, letting her frustration bubble over. She knew it was a mask, one of her defensive mechanisms, but she did it anyway. “Did you consider that maybe I wouldn’t want to come to something like this?”

“No,” Marc said flatly. “And don’t be absurd, ma petite rebelle. You look astounding, half of the men around us are stealing glances at you, and we are about to have a lovely time drinking exquisite drinks and eating unnecessarily complicated hors d’oeuvres as we make small talk and, most importantly, take in some of the exhibits. Now stop being childish, your pouting is unattractive.”