Chapter 8
Lillian
Jeff Pearson meets us in the marble-tiled, museum-like, Greek-columns-included lobby.
The fortyish man wears a light-gray Tom Ford suit.
His loosely knotted burgundy tie suggests he works too hard to bother with perfection.
Polished black John Lobbs peek beneath his trousers.
His tan and blond highlights must’ve come from a bottle.
Either that, or he just returned from a tropical vacation.
What bothers me most is his smile. It never reaches his eyes, although the corners around them crinkle on cue. In fact, the ebony centers remain serial-killer emotionless, much like my father.
“Happy to see you again.” The charlatan stretches out his hand, so I take it.
When he tightens his grip, my spine stiffens as I try to let go.
Grinning, he releases me. “Thanks for coming.”
As if squaring off for Fight Club, he widens his disingenuous grin and turns to my partner. “Mr. Clark. I didn’t expect you to tag along.”
“My fiancée insisted. Perhaps we’ll buy the place.” Sean shrugs, looking every inch the heir to a company that’s landed on the Forbes Top 100 list for the last thirty years.
“Fiancée?” Jeff chuckles as he leads us toward the elevator. “Well, well… Congratulations.”
He glances at my left hand. “Forgot the ring at home, sweetheart?”
I scowl. “I’m still deciding.”
“About the size of the diamond or him?” The annoying man’s chuckle hits its intended mark.
Swiveling on my Jimmy Choos, I purse my wine-stained lips. “I’m not a bull, and I don’t need fancy jewelry to be led around by the nose. The custom is archaic.”
Our suspect laughs out loud. “Ouch. Apparently, you’ve found a unicorn, Clark. A woman who scorns your money. Have fun keeping her.”
As we wait for the elevator, Sean grasps my hip, pulling me closer to his side.
On the top floor, he stays right behind me as an impeccably dressed real estate agent in her fifties greets us. Perched on impossibly high heels, she guides us through the expansive open space with its two-story ceilings, pausing to point out the breathtaking view of the Hudson.
“Everything is new.” Her fake London accent thickens as she shows off the Italian marble in the spa-like bathroom.
All professional. All polite smiles. But is it?
As the tour winds down, Jeff moves to my side. Before I can react, he brushes a lock of hair behind my ear so he can whisper, “How about meeting me later? We can discuss how we might do business together.”
My nails digging into my hands, I catch my partner’s gaze for a brief second and silently will him to stay quiet. This might be the opportunity we hoped for.
“My fiancée and I have plans tonight.” Voice subdued enough so only the three of us can hear, Sean steps into Jeff’s personal space until the man stumbles backward. “By the way, I’d appreciate it if you kept your hands to yourself.”
Later, alone in the lobby, I punch Sean’s arm. “I knew you’d fuck things up. Now I won’t get dick.”
“Only mine, babe.”
“For heaven’s sake, I’ve played this game many times. Remember Johnny Defoe? Naked? Handcuffs? Who held the whip, sweetheart?”
“You did.” Despite trying to maintain a straight face, he snickers. “That club owner never saw it coming.”
My palms reach to his cheeks. “If Jeff tries anything, he’ll get the same treatment. Trust me, okay?”
Sean lowers his eyes. Hand on my back, he limps as he walks me past the desk.
Outside, waiting for our ride, he leans against the white stucco and lets out his breath. “The problem isn’t you.”
“So, what is it?”
“If that asshole touches you again, I might forget we’re working.”
That is so sweet. “Honey, I can handle him.”
“I know.” He flashes a dangerous grin. “But not if I handle him first. Permanently.”