Chapter 27

I glanced toward the entrance, where Marco had disappeared only moments earlier.

Next to me, Zane was still sitting, which, like so many other things, caught me off guard. For some reason, I figured that Zane would've already been on his feet, hustling both of us toward the elevator.

But he wasn't.

Instead, he was watching the entrance with cool detachment, even as the sound of a thud, quickly followed by a crash, echoed from somewhere beyond our sight, probably in the hotel lobby.

I just had to ask, "What do you think that was?"

Zane's gaze remained on the entrance. "Don't know, don't care."

"I bet it was a plant," I said. "Or maybe one of those tall tables with a vase of flowers on top."

Zane's gaze shifted in my direction, but he made no reply. I didn't even know why I was babbling to him of all people, and yet, I couldn’t seem to make myself stop.

For some stupid reason, I just had to explain, "See, the thud would be from the table, and the crash would be from the vase." I hesitated. "Unless the vase was plastic."

Zane was still looking at me. "Plastic," he repeated.

I'd seen the vases on the way in. "Well, they didn't look like plastic," I said, "but you never know, right?"

Once again, Zane said nothing. He didn't have to, because his look said it all. Shut the hell up. I'm thinking.

I was still holding the two drinks. Desperate for something to do, if only to keep myself from blathering, I lifted the drink in my right hand and took a good, long pull.

Hello, Mimosa.

And yup, it was definitely alcoholic. Champagne and orange juice? So that's what a mimosa was. And why on Earth was I drinking on my first day on the job? Before noon, no less.

It wasn't good for business or my stomach. And yet, I couldn’t resist taking another pull, even as I prayed that I'd be able to keep it down.

Zane said, "If you get drunk, I'm not holding your hair."

As if I'd let him.

I took a final, defiant slurp before setting the drink on the table. "You won't need to," I informed him.

He gave me a dubious look. "And why's that?"

"Because…" I smiled. "I've got a scrunchie in my purse." Oh, sure, the purse was upstairs, but that was beside the point.

His gaze shifted to my hair, which I'd worn loose today, letting it fall in waves over my shoulders. He didn't look entirely disgusted, but that was probably just the mimosa talking – to me, not him.

He was still looking at my hair. "What the hell is a scrunchie?"

"It's like a glorified rubber band."

Now, he looked disgusted. "A rubber band."

"Well yeah," I said, "but it's covered in cloth." I paused. "Or maybe it's made of cloth. Anyway, it's all thick and fluffy, so it doesn't pull your hair out in gobs." I cleared my throat. "Well, not your hair. I mean, my hair…"

Yup, I was definitely blathering now. It was long past time to stop. Lamely, I finished by mumbling, "…because your hair's too short for a scrunchie." And with that, I clamped my lips shut and tried to pretend that the mimosa wasn't wreaking havoc on my nervous stomach.

He said, "You want breakfast?"

I gave a small shudder. "Not really."

"Good," he said, "because we've got another meeting in five."

My stomach sank to the floor. I wasn't sure I could take another meeting, especially if it was anything like the first one.

Unfortunately, it was.

Oh sure, it wasn't quite as bad, but it wasn't a walk in the park either. The only difference was this meeting, along with several more afterward, took place in Zane's office, where he told a whole new set of people to fuck off.

Why he wanted me there, I had no idea – unless it was to torture me in front of strangers, which, knowing Zane, wasn't exactly out of the question.

By noon, I was utterly exhausted and more confused than ever. I still had no idea what I was supposed to be doing or where I'd be doing it. After all, I hadn't been shown to anything resembling a desk.

No doubt, a dark and dreary cubicle awaited me somewhere in the building, assuming that I actually managed to keep this job for more than a single day. I was, after all, just a little bit tipsy.

After the umpteenth person stormed out of Zane's office, I just had to ask, "Am I supposed to be doing something?"

"Yeah," Zane said, "planning for the fallout."

Oh, there'd definitely be a fallout. Already, Zane had been threatened with a whole bunch of lawsuits and a shocking degree of physical violence. I bit my lip. "About that last guy…" I hesitated. "You don't really think he'll send people to your house? Do you?"

Zane looked oddly unconcerned. "He can try."

If I cared about Zane at all – which I totally didn't – I'd have been just a little bit concerned. That last guy had looked ready to pop. And just before storming out, he'd told Zane flat-out that he'd better watch his back – here and where he lived.

Before I could stop myself, I asked, "Is that why you carry a gun?"

Zane's mouth tightened. "What?"

"Well, I'm just saying, when I stopped by your house a few weeks ago, I couldn’t help but notice that you had a weapon in your swimsuit." I froze. Damn it. For some reason, that statement sounded wrong, and yes, slightly X-rated. Quickly, I added, "I mean, in the back of your swimsuit."

Oh, crap. Was that worse or better?

My face was burning, even as I tried to pretend that I was just making normal conversation.

"You met the guard," Zane said. "What do you think?"

Me? I thought the guard wouldn't look nearly as good in a swimsuit.

Where had that idea come from? I gave a small shake of my head. "Uh, sorry? What do I think of what?"

"About the guy manning the gate. You think someone like him is gonna keep an eye out?"

"Well, not anymore," I said, "since you fired him and all."

Zane's expression darkened. "Yeah. And he had it coming, as you damn well know."

This was true, even if I hated to admit it. Unsure what to say, I did the smart thing for once and kept my mouth firmly shut.

Zane looked toward the window and said, almost as if speaking to himself, "I've got enemies."

A nervous scoff escaped my lips. "Yeah, I bet."

Slowly, he turned his gaze back to me. "Meaning?"

"Well, I'm just saying, I think you'd catch more flies with honey."

He looked at me for a long moment before saying, "I’m not catching flies. I'm catching monsters."

I studied his face. The way it looked, he was actually serious. I just had to ask, "What kind of monsters?"

"Trust me. You don't wanna know."

He was wrong on both counts. I didn't trust him. And I did want to know. Of course, some of it wasn't a huge mystery. Already, I'd seen how he treated people.

Was it any wonder he had enemies?

I considered every person he'd offended, abused, or threatened during our short acquaintance. First, there'd been Bob, the guy he'd kicked out of his family home. And then, there were all of the people we'd seen today. Every single one of them had been friendly coming in, and raging as they left.

I could totally relate.

And yet, it was almost sad. The way all those people talked, they thought Zane's grandfather had been a hell of a guy. So how was it, I wondered, that his grandson had turned out to be such a jerk?

I tried to look on the bright side. Maybe today was some sort of trial by fire. Maybe, assuming that I kept this job at all, things would be a lot more peaceful going forward.

But surprise, surprise… They weren't.