Nice of him to finally ask. “I’m fine.” I wasn’t sulkin’ or anything. I also wasn’t going to put any stock into him worrying, either, even though he was mad. That would be pure foolishness.
He nodded and lifted his head to watch the numbers ticking away above the doors.
When they opened, we ended up in a lobby where we shuffled to another elevator. The lobby was real nice. Much more fancy than Ally’s. She had obviously been here before because once we loaded up in the new elevator, she opened her purse and pulled out an access card. Being closest to the buttons, she held it up to the sensor and hit the button for the eighth floor.
Stash’s eyebrows flew up. Zane blinked. Cole rubbed his jaw.
“I’m so glad I kept your card active,” Brent murmured sarcastically.
“As if you would have disabled it.” Ally didn’t even look at him in pure haughty fashion.
Brent huffed, but didn’t comment. The three of us knew he would never deny her.
Once we unloaded on the eighth floor we followed Brent down a hallway with only two doors. One on each side. Brent stopped at the one on the left and slid his own card into the slot, opening it – kinda like a hotel’s card, instead of a regular key. He walked in first, turning on lights. Cole’s large hand landed on the small of my back, gently ushering me in before him.
Brent turned around just in time to notice. “Don’t fucking touch her.”
Cole lifted an eyebrow and dropped his hand, but didn’t move away.
Brent, scowling, was ready to say something else when Ally interrupted, “We need to talk.” She glanced back and forth between Brent and me, her intentions clear.
Brent irritably brushed back a blond curl and turned on his heel. He opened large, wooden French doors on the right side of his spaciously tiled foyer. He swept his arm grandly for us to enter. Flawless, ticked off mockery.
I dropped my bags and moved toward the door. As I reached the entrance to an opulent library, Ally spun me around and planted her lips on mine, walking me backward into the room. The kiss wasn’t one of desire. It was a reprimand. I knew what for, and I allowed it. She was beyond distraught and this was her way of dealing.
I heard Stash mumble, “Oh, hell yes.”
It sounded like Zane grunted in agreement.
They obviously didn’t understand the gesture for what it was.
“If you’ll excuse us…” Brent started to say dryly, but Ally abruptly released me.
And punched an unaware Brent right in the face.
“Christ!” Brent hollered. “That was fucking uncalled for.”
“No, it wasn’t,” she hissed while Brent rubbed his jaw. “You should have told her!”
He scowled before turning to the expectantly stunned men. “Now, if you’ll excuse us. Make yourselves at home,” he grumbled then, “You normally do.” He banged the doors shut behind him.
When he turned to face us, fire was building in his eyes and Ally and I headed straight for the bar tucked away in a corner. Brent paced like a wild cat while Ally made herself a drink and I grabbed the bottle of tequila. No glass needed. We situation ourselves on one of the couches under a large window – safe zone – and waited. I took a swig. It didn’t take long.
First, Brent gingerly picked up a large, very expensive looking, vase. He rolled it around in his hands absently…before it was hurdled against a wall void of picture frames. Next, came the small table it had sat on. That, too, ended up splintered on the floor next to the tiny, porcelain pieces on the previously whole vase.
The doors had already swung open – I knew they would eavesdrop – and three mystified men watched as Brent systematically tore apart the room, item by item. I got up after a minute and grabbed the whiskey bottle and sat back down next to Ally, stuffing it between us. I took a good chug off my bottle and rested my head back on the couch, praying he would hurry up and burn off some of his frustration. Same ‘ol, same ‘ol.
I couldn’t believe he didn’t have a punching bag somewhere in this joint. Had he changed so much? Back in the day, he would beat the heck out a punching bag when he was angry or frustrated. Although, when one wasn’t available, the furniture took the brunt of it his anger. Some would say he threw tempertantrums, but I say better the furniture or punching bag than a person.
Finally, when most of the room was destroyed, large furniture excluded, he stopped, standing in the middle of the room and heaved gulps of air in and out. I got up, bounding here and there through the debris, and handed him the whisky. Forest green eyes landed on mine as he tipped the bottle up, taking a mouthful. His eyes said it all. He wasn’t done yet.
I took the bottle back and hopped back over items and sat down, whispering to Ally, “Only a few more minutes. Three tops.”
“Two. And I bet he starts rumbling with Cole at the end,” Ally mumbled, getting up to make another drink.
No. He wouldn’t do that.
One minute and twenty-nine seconds later, I found out I was wrong.
