CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Nate
Despite his misgivings Jack was by my side, putting himself on the line for me.
I couldn’t recall the last time Erik had gone out on a limb for me, or put me first. And so, on stepping out of our suite I wasn’t nervous at all, because I’d come to a conclusion that gave me the strength of a goddamn superhero.
I was in love with Jack Boyd, and whatever happened, we’d work it out together.
Jack wasn’t just my next chapter. He was a new book, full of blank pages on which we could write our story.
I knew Jack felt the same, could feel it in my bones, and in my heart every time we made love.
I’d tell him the true depth of my feelings when the time was right.
But first I needed to come to terms with my past. I welcomed the chance to see this through and face Oliver Roux for my dad.
Roux had been on the periphery of my life since I married Erik, like a poisonous cloud.
I’d never liked the man. Now that Erik and I were divorcing I’d hoped never to see Oliver Roux again.
I glanced up the hall to observe the hulking security guard outside Roux’s door.
I nodded to Agent Lopez as Jack and I sauntered past. Lopez was to remain outside our suite in case Roux had arranged for a safe cracking team to take advantage of our absence.
If so, they’d get quite the surprise. Jack and I wore shirts with tiny button cameras that sent the surveillance feed to the taskforce van that was parked in the loading dock behind the kitchens.
Oliver Roux was obsessively tech reliant so we were assured he wouldn’t use a signal jammer.
The two British SIS agents remained one floor down, and just three minutes away at a dash if either of us said ‘Dinosaur’, the keyword to signal the end of the op.
Oliver Roux’s barrel-chested security guard asked us to raise our arms, and he patted us both down, looking for weapons, before, satisfied, he knocked three times on the door. The door was opened by a second guard, who stood aside and admitted us into the suite.
In the hallway Jack and I were asked to stand with our arms out while this guard gave us a once over with a security wand metal detector.
Roux was paranoid as hell, and with his wealth and business dealings, he had every right to be.
Neither Jack, nor I set off the alarm and so a young woman stepped into the hall to greet us.
She was in her mid-twenties, small of stature with flawless dark skin, and a close-cropped Afro haircut.
She wore a skirt suit that seemed too tight and buttoned-up for such a warm summer day.
Her six-inch heels made her walk like she was on stilts, but who was I to judge her fashion choices!
“Hello Mr. Linden, Mr. Boyd, I’m Amber Carrigan, Mr. Roux’s PA, you can call me Amber,” she said holding her hand out.
“Nice to meet you Amber. I’m sorry, we’re both non-contact. We can’t shake hands,” I said sheepishly. “I’m sure you understand. Our agents would not be happy if either of us got sick so close to our Berlin première!” I hedged.
“If you could relay this to Mr. Roux before we meet him—to avoid embarrassment,” Jack smiled cordially.
Ms Carrigan’s full lips pinched as she lowered her hand and nodded.
Agent D had suggested not touching, eating, or drinking anything Roux offered.
He’d revealed that over the span of fifteen years, six of Roux’s ex-business partners had died from ‘unexpected heart attacks,’ after dining with him.
Administering poison and then blackmailing in return for the antidote was not out of Oliver Roux’s wheelhouse!
“No problem, sirs,” Amber said smoothly. “Follow me; Mr. Roux’s on the balcony finishing a call. Would either of you like some refreshment?”
“I’m all good!” I smiled.
“Nothing for me,” Jack added. We followed Amber as she toddled into the lounge, the tip-tap of her heels on the timber floor like ice picks chip, chip, chipping.
The décor was a little different to our suite.
This square open plan room had two Italian cream leather couches facing one another with a glass oval coffee table in between.
While our suite was carpeted, this suite had a parquet floor and not a rug in sight.
The lounge also incorporated a dining area that had been sequestered for an office set up of several laptops, and tablets, a printer with scanner, a charging satellite phone and what looked like charging docks for other devices that were currently empty.
“If you could wait here, I’ll tell Mr. Roux the first guests have arrived.”
The first guests? This was unexpected. I shared a questioning glance with Jack, who shrugged. I wondered how many other guest Roux invited.
The view from the balcony of the Superior penthouse encompassed the roofline of old Wilhelminian era buildings and newer architecture, leading to the densely wooded treetops of Tiergarten in the distance.
Amber took the steps to the French doors leading onto the sun-drenched balcony. Oliver Roux was out there on a call, his grey ORIGIN branded t-shirt riding up to display a line of hairy belly, his hands gesticulating as he paced and spoke into a Bluetooth hands-free headset.
On noticing Amber’s approach, Roux thrust his hand out and finger up, halting her.
“A moment,” Roux said to whoever he was on a call with.
Then, seeing she was obedient to his instruction, he crooked a finger and beckoned Amber closer.
He placed a hand over the mic on his headset, and as Amber leaned in, he threaded his free hand around her slender waist and then down to clench her bottom.
Amber whispered something in his ear. Roux nodded, patted her backside, and released her.
The PA returned to sit at the dining room table and began scrolling and typing on her laptop.
Jack and I stood there, ignored and a little non-plussed as Amber got on with her work, as if we weren’t in the room.
We hadn’t even been invited to take a seat.
I wasn’t surprised. I knew Oliver Roux loved power games.
Jack gave me a look. I leaned to his ear.
“Don’t worry, this is a game. He was leaving us hanging to unsettle us. ”
We waited patiently until we heard our host roar, “I don’t give a damn about your excuses.
I want this sorted, do you fuckin’ hear me, or you’ll pay!
” Roux threatened whoever he was on a call with, his Bostonian accent thick.
“I’m on stage at three. I will not be made to look like a fool!
Get it done,” he barked into his headset then he strode in from the balcony, his face red with rage.
He headed toward the wet bar. I sent a wary look to Jack and his look returned a question.
What the hell was that about? Oliver Roux removed the headset, placing it beside his phone, which sat in a charging dock.
Facing away from us, he took several calming breaths, seemingly resetting himself before turning, and shooting us a wide, confident smile.
“Amber,” he said, and his assistant was at his side in seconds.
“Gentlemen, thank you for coming. You’ve met my lovely PA, Amber Carrigan,” he grinned.
“I picked her up straight out of MIT Sloan. I mean, who could resist this package? The brains, the beauty, and the booty!” he said as his large hand roamed over her shapely bottom before he grabbed and gave her a squeeze.
Amber stood stony-faced and submissive beside her boss, holding onto her tablet computer.
I figured then that the six-inch stripper heels weren’t her idea of work attire!
”Don’t you just love it! The curve of a girl’s booty…
it’s something special. That’s how we know god’s a man!
Right, right?” Roux growled his eyes full of predatory lust. Neither Jack nor I responded.
I was icked by the exchanged. My gaze slid to meet Jack’s again.
From the tightness in his jaw I could see he was as angry as I was, but neither of us stepped in.
Everything we saw was covertly recorded so others would see what kind of man Roux truly is.
Oliver Roux whispered into Amber’s ear, and then slapped her bottom.
“Follow up with Kenji about the graphics for the presentation,” he directed and sent her on her way again.
The woman made momental eye contact with us and her brows rose in a ‘what can you do’ gesture before she tip-tapped up the hallway and into one of the guest bedrooms.
Oliver Roux was in his mid-fifties, but he’d had so much plastic surgery it was anyone’s guess which parts of him were human and which were synthetic.
His shoulder length grey blond hair was slicked back into a tail, like the late Karl Lagerfeld, and the pupils in his brown eyes were pinholes, telling me he was medicated.
He wore jeans and a grey tee, because dressing like an eternal frat-boy was part of his brand.
Roux turned back to the wet bar and picked up a cut crystal decanter of autumn gold liquid, probably a very expensive Scotch, and then he poured a generous measure into a tumbler.
"Would you like to join me gentlemen?" Roux asked.
"No, thanks, I don't drink," Jack stated.
"Nothing for me," I added. Roux shook his head with an air of paternal disappointment.
"Shame, I thought actors were supposed to be a little more fun!” he said, pushing the stopper back into the decanter and placing it onto the tray.
“I saw your movie, y'know, on the flight over,” he revealed conversationally. “Very entertaining if you’re into that queer shit. The happy ending was a little predictable, don’t-cha think? "
I wondered for a split second how Roux managed to get hold of the movie because it was newly released in cinemas in the US. But then I remembered who he was—a peer of Erik's. They moved in the same elite circles and whatever they wanted could be theirs with a phone call.