“Sorry, we didn’t realize it was a private room,” Andrea answers first.
“How did you get in? This door was locked.”
Her eyebrows twist with Oscar-worthy confusion. “It wasn’t. We got in and thought it was as good a place to—”
“You’re Richard’s boy,” he says, focusing on me now. “Little Alex.”
“I am. My father sends his regrets that he couldn’t attend your birthday, and he put me in charge of paying you our respects.”
The lie, which worked well on the hostess downstairs, seems unconvincing to him. He turns to the few men who were with him and says, “Return to the party. I need to handle this.”
“Of course.”
I move back, allowing Andrea to slide down from the desk and arrange her dress. “Sorry we intruded. I can’t resist a man in a tux,” she jokingly says, her voice imperceptibly trembling. “We’ll go now.”
“You two aren’t going anywhere,” he counters, already having his phone out. He calls a number on speed dial and brings it to his ear. Two seconds pass before he barks, “My office.Now.”
“We really must go,” I insist.
“And you will do as I say, or I’ll have you shot for trespassing.” Instinctively, I step in front of Andrea before he continues with, “Your father has avoided me like the plague for ten years. I doubt he sent you to pay his respects.”
“Maybe we should call him, so he can tellyou himself,” I bluff.
His scowl seems lethal, but I don’t let it intimidate me. The four men who storm in, though… It takes a lot not to flinch.
“Search them,” Becker orders.
“Excuse me?!” Andrea protests, appalled.
“Do you really think we’d steal something?” I counter.
The men don’t bat an eye at the order and walk up to us. One of them holds my arms back while the other pats me, over and under the vest, then each leg all the way down. Andrea resists, trying to writhe her way out of one man’s hold and landing a kick on the shin of the other. “Don’t you fucking touch me, you asshole,” she spits out.
Becker comes closer, his dangerous aura permeating the air. I try to jolt out of the man’s hold as the cunt comes close to Andrea’s face to say, “You seem familiar…”
“I was in the papers a few months ago,” she grits out. His eyes stay on her, scanning her face and every detail of it. Let’s hope she was right, and he won’t recognize her from their interactions a couple of days ago.
It seems she was, because he pulls away with, “I see… Well, little miss famous, either you let my man search you or I will. But you’re not getting out of here without having been searched.”
Her eyes throw daggers at him, and I’m fairly certain she’d spit in his face if her life weren’t in danger. “Him,” she decides, making it sound like an insult to Becker.
He takes a couple of steps back, and this time, when the guard searches her, she lets him. I watch, forcing myself to hold back my anger for our sake. This isn’t even about them potentially finding the card, but about the way he touches her and that fucking smirk on his face.
I’m not a fighter. I’ll do it when there’s no other choice, like I did in Sheridan. But there’s no way I can get the upper hand over these four men plus whatever is out there. And resisting too much would only titillate Becker’s suspicions about us. Whereas letting him search us and find nothing wouldn’t. On the contrary, it absolves us.
When the man’s search moves to Andrea’s legs, I tense. He drags his hands up, circling her leg when there clearly couldn’t be anything hidden in her tights. He gives no reaction when he arrives at the garter, but I do.
“Get your fucking hands off her,” I growl.
“You were always a troublemaker,” Becker snickers, drawing my attention. “I remember your father telling me about your issues at school and how you couldn’t make friends. Good to see some things never change.”
“Yeah, you’re still a piece of shit,” I groan. “Imagine being such a fucking cunt that my father, one of the biggest assholes in this country, doesn’t even want to associate with you.”
The guard is done searching Andrea, so he stands up and shakes his head. Becker doesn’t seem done with us, though, as he comes closer to me. “What does it mean for you, since you have no friends while I have a penthouse full of them at this very moment? Are you the bigger cunt?”
I grit my teeth, my tongue burning with a response. I could remind him that every one of his guests is a vulture, only here for their image and not because they’re his friends. But there’s no point in it because men like him are incapable of doing any form of introspection.
When I say nothing, he grins as though he has won the argument. “Take them outside. Keep them close,” he orders.
