Not anymore, anyways. Thanks, Vincent.
“I know,” she says again, holding up her hands in defeat. “Sorry. You look great and that top is very flattering. Verystartup chic, or whatever.”
I nod, not wanting to reignite the topic of professional clothes with my best friend of eight years. She knows as well as I do that hell would freeze over before she saw me in a blazer ever again, let alone pearl earrings.
I know that Kristen is just as nervous as I am, and like the perfectionist that she is, wants to tie up any loose ends before we’re inevitably on stage in front of a bunch of VCs today.
“Come on,” I say. “Let’s get some coffee and take a last pass over the slideshow.”
5
Vincent
By the timeBlack and the rest of my useless security team track down Hazel’s location, I’m two steps ahead of them. Her hotel was right down the street from my own the whole time, a thought that both alarms and comforts me.
Alarming because as long as she’s close to me, she’s close to the danger. Likely to be seen by Damien, who knows damn well that she’s one of the few bargaining chips he could use against me.
Comforting because last night I needed to know where the hell she was and didn’t, which made my mind wander. She could be anywhere, in any part of this vast city. In danger, maybe.
Or maybe just with another man.
“I’m really not supposed to -”
I glare daggers at the small, mousy woman behind the front desk of the small hotel. She shrinks away.
“I…could get my manager,” she says reluctantly. “And see if there’s anything they can do?”
Cursing, I retrieve my wallet from my pocket and pull out a stack of hundreds. Her eyes widen.
“Room number,” I say to her. “And room key.”
“Room 457,” she whispers, reaching for the bills.
“And the key,” I prompt, holding the money just out of her reach.
She shakes her head.
“I’m sorry, sir,” she says. “It’s a safety matter. We can’t just give room numbers out to every stranger who -”
Cursing, I slap the money on the table and rush to the elevator, taking it to the fourth floor where I locate Hazel’s room, banging on the door.
“Hazel it’s me,” I roar. “Open the motherfucking door.”
No response.
I bang on the door again. Still no response. I’m contemplating breaking the door down when my phone rings.
“You better have information,” I growl to Black.
“She’s here for Startup Week,” Black says in a rush. “Same as you.”
“Fuck,” I growl. “Find her. Take her back to my hotel and secure the entrance. Nobody gets in or out.”
“We’re trying, sir,” he says. “We’re having a hard time locating her and her associate.”
“Associate?”
“Kristen Redding,” he replies. “A close friend.”
