CHRISTIAN
The door closedwith a quiet snick behind me.
In the hush of my satellite office, it sounded like a gunshot.
The man seated inside jumped, his knee banging against my desk as he swiveled to face me.
I recognized him from last night’s tech event. Some low-level entrepreneur who’d weaseled his way into the gathering.
I’d let him wait in here alone because I wasn’t worried about him stealing or snooping. I reserved my satellite office for more…unsavory conversations, and it didn’t contain anything except basic office furniture.
“I’ve been waiting for half an hour.” He stated the fucking obvious like I couldn’t tell time.
“Have you?” I gave negative shits about how long he’d had to wait. Frank Rivers was a bottom feeder. He would wait two hours if I wanted him to. “Apologies.”
I walked to my desk and took the seat opposite him.
Silence descended again as I studied him. My dispassionate gaze swept from his thinning brown hair to his tacky green shirt. His jacket stretched a little too tight across his shoulders, and a film of perspiration dotted his upper lip.
“Do you know why I asked for this meeting?” I asked conversationally.
“No. Your guy didn’t say.” Frank’s eyes darted around. I’d had Kage bring him in, and I would’ve laughed at his obvious nervousness if I had an ounce of amusement left inside me. “I assume it has to do with my new business.” His chest puffed up a little.
“Your new business.”
He deflated. “Yes. I…I thought you wanted to talk business. Offer me security.”
This time, I did laugh, though the sound lacked humor.
I wouldn’t provide security for Frank Rivers even if he paid me a billion dollars and offered to wipe my ass every day for the rest of my life.
“No. That’s not why I wanted to see you.” I pulled open my desk drawer. “I heard you’re a big fan of whisky.”
Surprise flitted across his face, followed by confusion. “Yes…”
“I’m a fan myself.” I retrieved a distinctive black box with gold lettering.
Judging by Frank’s sharp inhale, he recognized it immediately.
“Yamakazi twenty-five-year-old whisky,” I confirmed with a smile. “Cost me twenty grand.”
I owned a bottle of fifty-five-year-old Yamakazi that cost forty times that, but I would never waste it on scum like Rivers.
“Would you like some?” I asked politely.
At Frank’s eager nod—the man was practically salivating—I opened the bottle and filled the two crystal glasses sitting on my desk.
My lip curled with disdain when Frank pounced on his before I finished pouring the second.
No manners.Emily Post must be rolling in her grave.
“I did have one question,” I said before the glass fully reached his fleshy lips. “When you groped my date at the event last night, which hand did you use?”
He froze. All the color blanched from his skin. “What—I—”
“My date.” I leaned back, leaving my own drink untouched. “Tall, curly dark hair, black dress. The most beautiful woman at the event.”
“I—I didn’t know…I didn’t know she was your date.” Frank’s stuttered excuse was almost as pathetic as his etiquette. “I’m sor—”
“I’m not interested in your apology. I’m interested in an answer.” The finely honed edge of my rage sliced through my cordial mask. The thought of him even breathing in Stella’s presence, much less fucking touching her, made acid burn in my blood. “Which. Hand?”
Sweat stains bloomed on Frank’s shirt. “R-right.”
“I see.” My smile returned. “Put the drink down.”
He was holding it with his right hand.
“I swear, I didn’t know! I—I arrived late and—”
My eyes narrowed.