“Hi.” We shake hands. “Call me Alice.”
“All right, then, Alice.”
“How should we handle this?” I ask.
His gaze registers surprise, but it’s swiftly covered by a friendly professional demeanor. “As much as I’d like to drag him out of here by the scruff of the neck, I’m supposed to contact Smith to come and deal with any situation. That’s how the family likes things done. Unless you have a better idea?”
“Let me tr talking to Henry first.”
“They’re a long way from sober. Do you think that’s wise?”
“I’ve spent most of my working life dealing with people a long way from sober.” I shrug. “But if it all goes to hell, you can tell Beck it was my fault.”
Aaron just smiles. There’s no way he should have to deal with a mess of the Elliots’ creating. But here we are.
Henry and his three buddies are partying hard. One empty bottle and another half full sit on the table. Top shelf single malt, of course. Privileged little shits.
And from the looks of the glasses, Henry’s been mixing it with cola. Expensive scotch and soda, that’s a hanging offense right there.
“Party’s over, Henry,” I say with a smile. “Time to go, boys.”
Henry, his face red, just laughs. “Hey, it’s Beck’s latest screw. Sorry. Girlfriend, I mean. How you doing? I’d introduce you, but, honest to God, I can’t remember your name. I mean, why bother learning them? None of you last for long.”
His friends all chuckle like he’s a comedic genius. Drunken assholes are pretty much the same the world over. Age and money mean little once the booze hits your bloodstream.
I pick up the bottle of scotch, passing it to Aaron.
“Give it back,” growls Henry, slamming his hand down on the table. “Or I’ll have all of your asses fired.”
“I don’t actually work here, so…not much of a threat.”
“I own this fucking place. You and the other basics can leave now.”
“Thing is, you don’t own me.” I smile. The trick with dealing with drunks is confidence. Act like you have total authority and some dark, drunken part of their brain starts to wonder if maybe you do. “You three, Henry’s friends, up and out.”
His friends shoot him questioning looks. Henry’s cheekbones stand out in stark relief. “Gold-digging fucking bitch, you can’t tell us what to do! Go find a dick to suck. That’s the only thing you’re good for.”
“Quick question, Henry. Why should I hesitate to call the cops? I mean, I could just call your grandmother, but I’m figuring this would be so much more memorable if you got your sorry asses dragged down to the lockup. And don’t think the same doesn’t go for all of your little friends.”
Now they exchange nervous glances.
“I neither know nor give a flying fuck who any of you are,” I say. “Get moving. Now.”
There’s some muttered swearing and furious looks, but his three buddies eventually get to their feet and stomp out. Part of the problem dealt with, at least. Aaron gives the nod and a couple of security guys follow them. Hopefully they’ll get them home safely. I have enough on my plate just dealing with Beck’s little brother.
Henry’s red eyes are furious.
“Don’t make me call her,” I say quietly. “I’ve been on the receiving end of her bullshit. You know you don’t want that.”
And no matter what a little shit he’s being right now, he has to be hurting. What with his father dying and everything. Change is hard. Some of the fight leaches out of him at this, making him more sullen teenager than anything. He gives me a resentful glare. “What are you going to do, then?”
“Where’s your mom?”
“Gone.”
The hell? “Where?”
He just shrugs.
“Okay. So you and those three drank a bottle and a half between you?” I ask. “Hope you feel good now because you’re going to feel like hell soon enough.”
“Like that’ll be a change.”
Heavy sigh. “C’mon up to the apartment, Henry.”
“Will you let me drink up there?” he asks, getting unsteadily to his feet. He’s tall like his brothers, but yet to fill out.
“Not a chance. But I will let you lie on the couch, watch TV, drink some water, take some Advil, and sleep it off.”
A shadow of fear or doubt crosses his face. “You won’t tell Grandma?”
“No.”
“Okay,” he decides. A hand goes to his stomach. “I don’t feel so good.”
“I’m not surprised. Let’s go.”
That’s when he throws up on me.
Beck walks in a little after one p.m. with a vase full of red roses and greenery. “Honey, I’m home.”
“Shh!”
His brows draw tight as he inspects my lace bra. At least my bottom half is covered in blue jeans. He places the flowers on the kitchen counter. “We talked about you and your lingerie tempting me to sin.”
“I’m not here to tempt you. I’m here to stop you from waking your little brother who’s passed out in the office. Please keep your voice down.”
“Henry?” he asks, with a frown. “What’s he doing here? Especially what is he doing here with you only half dressed? That view is only for me.”
“He threw up on me a couple of times, necessitating a wash and change, which I was halfway through when you arrived.” I gently close the office door on Henry’s drunken snoring. What a day. At least I got the worst of the mess off my shoes and the vomit-splattered clothes are soaking in one of the bathroom sinks. Hopefully the stains aren’t permanent. “Aaron sent up a rollaway and we put him in here. Hope you weren’t planning on working in the office for a while.”
“I get the feeling I’m missing the beginning of this story.”
“Okay,” I say, taking a breath. “So I went downstairs to see if they had enough waiters today and Henry along with some friends of his were having a liquid brunch. I frightened off his friends and got him up here. The end.”
“They were drinking here in the hotel?” he says, voice tense.
“None of your people served them. He went behind the bar himself and grabbed some bottles.”
He turns away, his expression tight. The man is pissed. Guess it could’ve been a real public relations disaster for the family if someone had recorded the incident and posted it on social media. The mega-rich have a lot of perks, but anonymity isn’t one of them.
“Anyway,” I say. “We got it under control.”
He is not appeased. “Why didn’t you call Smith to deal with this?”
“Who does Smith answer to?” I ask, hands on hips. “Your grandmother, right? The kid just lost his father and now his mom’s abandoned him too.”
“Giada’s gone?”
“Apparently. All of that would be enough to make anyone lose their shit, let alone a sixteen-year-old. So the last thing he needs is Catherine going off at him.”
Beck says nothing.
“I get that you want to kick his ass and I agree that he kind of deserves it.”