Page 64 of X: Command Me through Alexander’s Eyes

Chapter Twenty-Four

The next morning, I’m no closer to knowing what to do when I’m called to a meeting.

“Alexander.” My father rises from his desk and gestures towards a man I don’t recognize. “I’d like you to meet my...associate.”

I stick a hand out, and he surveys me with shrewd, green eyes. The man is my age, maybe a little older. His hair is caught between dark blonde and red. The suit he wears is expensive, as is the Omega wristwatch on his arm. All these things tell me he’s rich, but there’s little else to discern from his appearance.

“Smith Price,” he says, without giving any more away. The man is locked up like a safe, and he’s not going to show anything unless he wants to.

“Mr. Price is here to discuss a mutual friend.”

“My friend or yours?” I ask dryly. I can’t imagine that we have any friends in common. The closest we get to sharing a relationship is where Pepper is concerned—and I’d hardly count her a confidant.

“Mine.” My father’s lips thin into a flat line.

“Actually, we have a mutual acquaintance.” Price picks a thread from his sleeve, eyes it with annoyance, and flicks it to the ground.

I bite back a smile. I can only imagine the palpitations that move gave my father, but he doesn’t speak. I can’t help wondering who this Smith Price is that he puts up with it. “We do?”

“Georgia Kincaid,” he says her name casually, but his eyes are trained on me, waiting to watch the bombshell explode.

“I haven’t seen her in years,” I say coolly. My father shows no signs that he remembers the name. If he did, I doubt I would still be part of this conversation. I also suspect Mr. Price would be on his way out the door.

It’s a message meant for me.

“And your friend?” I ask my father, keeping my eyes on Price.

“You remember Hammond,” he says, his face pinching.

I shouldn’t be taken aback. My eyes sweep to my father, but he won’t look at me. Years have passed since he found me—whip in hand, with her at my feet, bloodied and bruised and blissed out—and he hasn’t forgiven me.

“I’m surprised you count him as a friend,” I say simply.

“You know what they say about friends and enemies,” my father says.

“What is this about? And what does it have to do with me?” I ask, growing tired of the charade. “I haven’t spoken to Hammond in years, either. I don’t fit into his scene.”

A smirk flickers across Smith’s lips as if he spots my lie but doesn’t say anything. He lounges in his seat, his arm slung over its back, and answers. “You have a problem.”

“I do?” I ask.

“Yes,” he says, and all trace of arrogance is gone. “You’re going to need help.”

“From you?” I guess. I don’t know how he’s found his way here or how he managed to catch my father’s attention. “I doubt it.”

“I think you should listen to him,” my father says coldly. “There are things you need to know about—dangers you can’t possibly imagine. Not just to you, but—”

My phone rings, interrupting him. I’m reaching to silence it when I see it’s from Norris. I look up to my father and Mr. Price. “I’m sorry. This is an emergency.”

“It’s her, isn’t it?” my father demands. “You’re family is more important than some tart you’re shagging!”

I ignore him, tipping my head at Price. “Sorry to cut this short.”

“I understand. I’ll fill your father in.” He rises with me, bringing us face to face. He passes me a business card. “When you need me, come and find me.”

I resist the urge to laugh. I have no idea what’s going on, nor do I care to hear anymore. My father suffers under the delusion that everything is life or death. It’s the power going to his head. I’m still shaking my head when I reach the hall and return Norris’s call.

“Sorry, I was in a meeting,” I say, but he cuts me off before I can fill him in on the bizarre circumstances. “Is she okay?”

Norris delivered the note this morning. Since then, he’s been keeping an eye on her office. After making our relationship public at my father’s party, I’m well aware she’s likely to face some paparazzi this morning. I want to know she’s safe.

“There’s another story in the tabloids—”

“What’s new?” I ask irritably.

“I think you need to read it,” he says quietly.

His words creep under my skin. I hang up and open my browser. Search results start appearing before I’ve finished typing her name, but this time the story isn’t about me. It’s about her. I scan the headlines, a pit opening inside me as I see what I’ve done. I didn’t protect her. I can’t.

And now, it’s beginning.