"I just think...space...space would be good..."
"You can have all the space you want if you leave, Kash. But you're not pulling a no-show the day after you lose an award—it's a PR disaster waiting to happen." There's enough uninvited scrutiny on me as it is. "Harvey's got a car waiting outside. You're going to go home, sober up, take the morning to wash the shit out of your hair, and then come the fuck to work. Do you understand me?"
She whimpers. "Yes."
"Good."
At that moment, Tuija inches back into the bathroom with several Lore Corp security staff on her tail.
"Leaving you to it," I mutter, throwing my hands into a basin and rubbing in liquid soap. Behind me, Kasha slips slowly down the wall, and the staff step through to catch her.
"Boss?"
"Mmm?" I glance up from the steaming basin. "What?"
Tuija purses her lips. "Might want to check on your little piece. Montgomery was circling her like a shark."
"Huh? Wh—oh, shit." Leontine. Fuck, fuck.
I barge out of the bathroom, still shaking the water from my hands. I hadn't intended to completely abandon her; what if Montgomery poached SilentWitn3ss from Lore Corp? What if Leontine left?
Ten minutes of searching the ballroom later, I finally spot them; she sits at the GNS head table, sandwiched between Montgomery and Finn. They talk over her, and she looks uninspired, bored. Poor little lion, reduced to being the filling in a fucktard sandwich—looks like they haven't even topped up her drink. This won't do at all.
A few seconds, a beat, and she meets my eyes.
God.
More than once, I've wondered what draws me to Leontine. I've spent barely an hour in her company, one way or another; almost everything I know about the girl, I read in a fat brown file. But that afternoon in my conference room, she put her hand in mine and I saw how she'd dressed for me that morning. A thread pulls taut between us, frayed already where the dark things chew, and I see it in those shaded, pleading bedroom eyes—fuck. She makes my thighs tight and my ears ring. She makes me feel like an orgasm without her is a waste of precious desire.
She looks so small in the middle of the two men, her shoulders hunched and breasts pushed together beneath the black lace of her dress. There are manners to be considered here—I mustn't pull her away from Montgomery too fast, no matter how slowly she stretches that innocent smile. And she is smiling at me; it's more please help! than come hither, but the effect on my cock is the same.
Montgomery. Cunt of the highest order. Look at him, pretending he isn't near enough fifty with his hair transplant and dyed black mess. Are those jowls? Oh yes. There's no hiding them, you porky bastard. They say time isn't kind, and they're right; this dude must've pissed off a lot of clocks.
I flex my fingers in and out before striding over, as if it will ease the tension in my fists. I'm barely at the table before Montgomery notices Leontine staring at me, and though he visibly recoils as I put out my hand, he shakes it nonetheless.
"Aeron," he calls over the awful swing music. "Thought you'd made a quiet escape."
"I had business to attend to." My eyes never leave Leontine's. "Speaking of which, I'd like to borrow this lady for a moment."
Finn bristles. Either he's not used to playing with the big boys, or he fancies himself as Leo's lover. I don't know which is more pathetic.
"I hope you're not spilling any trade secrets," I tell him with a small smile. "They don't call this the Suicide Ball for nothing."
"We're not talking that kind of shop," Montgomery says in a cool voice which tells me that they absolutely are.
Leontine glances between the men before hopping to her feet. "Do you mind? Seems like this is important."
Finn shrugs like a sulky teenager. "I guess."
Montgomery flashes her a jowly smile. "It's been a pleasure, honey. You let me know if Aeron tries to make you do anything silly, hey?" His words are light and teasing, but you'd have to be a complete moron not to spot the passive aggressive undertone.
Leontine notices, of course. Her perfect eyebrow arches. I can almost hear her say it in that husky English voice: really? And then she comes to me, bunching her skirt as she steps to reveal a sliver of tanned inner thigh. Her bottom lip is a touch swollen from chewing; her eyes are glassy from too much champagne. Even her smile has mellowed from anxious to grateful.
I's too soon for trust. Can't be that. But baby, you're getting there, aren't you? For every twisted, manipulative bastard like me, there's a Dietrich Montgomery, making me look like fucking Ghandi. Karma: I thank you.
I offer her my arm, and she takes it without reservation.
"You okay?" I ask, my voice low.
She breathes in deeply; her ribs rise against my forearm. Silence.