I grab my coat, slip into a pair of running shoes and head out to the driveway, dreaming of telling him exactly where he can shove his contract even though I know what I’m going to have to do.
It takes me twice as long to get to the club with the snow that’s falling in thick flakes now. But the man who showed me in this morning and dropped off the envelope just a little while ago doesn’t seem surprised to see me again.
I realize when I leave my car with the valet that I forgot my purse and phone. I just came clutching that stupid contract.
“Where is he?” I ask, peering back to the entrance of the restaurant where we’d met earlier.
The man blocks my path. “If you’ll have a seat, I’ll let Mr. Montgomery know you’re here.”
“I’ll let him know myself.” I walk around him, and he follows close on my heels, telling me to wait as I push the curtain back and reach for the doorknob. I open it, and, opposite this morning, almost every table is full, and all the men seem to stop their conversations and look up at me when I enter.
“Ms. Abbot,” the man on my heels says again, this time a bit more forcefully. “If you’ll wait, I will find Mr. Montgomery for you.”
I look at the table on its raised dais where we’d sat earlier but it’s empty. I guess that one’s reserved for his exclusive use. How arrogant to have it raised as if it’s a throne and he’s the king.
Although I guess here, he is king.
I walk toward the curtain I saw earlier behind which I hear more sounds, men talking more quietly, then something else. Something different. A slap?
“Miss,” the man closes his hand over my arm to stop me when I reach for the curtain.
I look down at where he’s touching me, open my mouth to protest, but suddenly, I don’t have to.
“Peter,” comes Hayden’s deep voice.
Peter and I both turn to find Hayden stalking toward us, looking every bit the predator he is with his dark suit and narrowed eyes on Peter’s hand which is still closed around my upper arm.
“Sir,” Peter says, clearing his throat and releasing me instantly. “I was…” he falters.
Hayden looks me over. I look down at myself, at my open coat, the hoodie that’s really meant more for inside the house than outside it, yoga pants and—shit—mismatched sneakers.
In my haste, I’d put on one of mine and one of Lizzie’s. How?
And why now of all the days?
I clear my throat when his eyes return to mine.
He arches his eyebrows.
I tuck my hair behind my ear. I’d let it down but hadn’t bothered to brush it out and am suddenly very conscious of it. I hadn’t even looked in a mirror before I’d stalked out of my house and come here to tell him off. All the while, he still looks perfect, impeccable in his tailored suit. Looking right at home in his expensive club, with his initials in gold all over the walls.
“Narcissist,” I say.
He cocks his head to the side but either ignores my comment or knows it’s true so doesn’t bother denying it. “Were you anxious to deliver the contract in person?”
I step toward him, hating how I have to crane my neck to look up at him. He’s at least a foot taller than me and now that I’m not wearing heels, the difference puts me at an even greater disadvantage.
I steel my spine when he doesn’t budge, his eyes sparkling with amusement and his lip quivering with suppressed laughter.
“No, not anxious to deliver it. You didn’t include your phone number anywhere. I can’t call you.”
“I will happily give you my phone number. I didn’t realize you were interested,” he says with a wink.
“I imagine it’s hard for you but try not to be a dick.”
I notice heads snap toward us, but he doesn’t seem bothered. His smile widens, in fact. Like the cat who just swallowed the canary.
I clear my throat. He may not be embarrassed but I certainly am.
That slapping sound comes again from behind the curtain followed by a girl’s moan. “What the hell’s going on in there, anyway?”
“This isn’t a good time,” he says. “I have an appointment—”
“You have an appointment? I have a life! Sorry to be an inconvenience while you take it over.”
“Go home. We’ll do this later.”
“No.” I dig my heels in.
He pauses, smirks. “No?”
“No. We’ll do this now.”
“Fine, if you insist.”
He takes my elbow and steers me away, tightening his grip when I try to free myself.
“Let me go.”
“It’s a gentlemen’s club, Persephone. Not for ladies. And you’re causing a scene.”
“Like you care.”
“I don’t, but I thought you might. Isn’t Senator Barnes a family friend?” he asks, gesturing to the senator sitting a few tables away watching us.
I’d been so angry I hadn’t even looked around. Now that I do, I see more than one face I recognize.
“Smile and nod,” Hayden says.
I do.
He leads us to an elevator that I don’t even recognize as one until the wood paneled doors slide open and we step inside. He only releases me once the doors close. He punches some numbers on the keypad and the elevator begins its ascent.
I turn to him, catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror against the wall. I look at us together.
I look like something the cat dragged in.
He, on the other hand, well, he’s the cat who did the dragging.
“Where are we going?”
“My office.”
At the thirteenth floor, the elevator dings and the doors slide open.
“I thought buildings didn’t have a thirteenth floor. Bad luck or something.”
“Good and bad are a matter of perspective.”
I look around the large room with windows overlooking the city. The furnishings are dark, like in the club, leather and polished wood and chrome. Masculine, like I’d expect. There’s nothing soft in this room.
At least the walls aren’t plastered with his initials here.
“Drink?” he asks.
I turn to find him pouring himself a whiskey.
“No, thanks.” I need to keep my wits about me.
“You sure? You look like you could use one. When’s the last time you slept?”
“I look like this because I got home to learn from my father’s nurse that he’d be moved today. Then had a conversation with my stepmother about her sudden trip to Florida, compliments of you. Then, after trying to talk to my sister who is lying to me about skipping school, my doorbell rings and I think it’s the men from Sotheby’s come to pick up our things but no, it’s your errand boy,” I say, waving the contract around. “And when I ask for a phone number, he runs off, telling me all I need is in that envelope. And this,” I shake the paper at him. “This contract is…is insulting and degrading and—”
“What did you think we were doing exactly, Persephone?” he cuts me off casually and I watch how relaxed he looks. His arm on the mantle of the fireplace where the fire crackles softly, drink in his hand, his sly predator’s eyes on me.
“What did I think we were doing exactly?”