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"James," she said back with a matching inflection. They obviously hated one another. She glanced at Hannah, seemingly to make a point at suggesting she was purposely not involving her in the conversation. "Elliott, darling, Daddy was looking for you."
Elliott looked downright murderous, but kept his tone neutral when he spoke as he carefully stepped out of her grasp. "Go tell Frank that I will be right with him," he said in a tone that would accept no further discussion.
Dan looked as though she was contemplating saying something more, but then thought better about it. She shot Hannah another look before turning away and, presumably, finding her father.
A silence followed for a moment, broken by James who grabbed a glass of wine from a passing server and saying, "Ice, ice, baby."
Hannah fought the urge to laugh until she heard Elliott let out a short, low chuckle and then it rushed out of her like a teenage girl's fit of giggles. Elliott smiled down at her for a second, reaching out to his side and grabbing a white wine glass. He handed it to her, still smiling slightly. "Excuse me," he said, following Dan over to her father who was looking at him expectantly.
"Well, she's an absolute delight," Hannah said, taking a sip from her glass.
"Oh, baby doll... you have no idea," James touched her hand gently. "Listen, Hannah..."
Hannah held up her hand to stop him. "I was childish. And while I stand by the fact that you were being an ass... I am just in a surly mood and I took it out on you."
James sighed, suddenly turning and lowering his forehead to rest on hers. "I really like you Hannah," he said, pulling away and looking at her with a look much more serious than she had ever seen on him before. "I know you think I'm just picking at you, but I'm genuinely trying to be helpful. Trust me, I know my brother. And I know that if there was a physical depiction of the mental image he holds of the perfect woman... you would be it. You can deny it all you want, but he wants you. And while he might be on his best behavior right now, trust me, some day that will change. I want you to know because I want you to be prepared because no woman has ever lasted longer than a few weeks in Elliott's life."
Hannah couldn't wrap her head around the conversation. On one hand, her own personal insecurity weighed in and reminded her that she was usually never much to look at- that men had easily avoided paying her attention for a great many years and there was no evidence to suggest she was in any way wrong. But there had been moments. In her office, when he caught her... his hand on her back. She felt a shiver run down her spine.
"How long do women typically last in your life?" she countered with a smile, hoping to try to steer the conversation off of her.
"Touché," he smiled a little, "but this isn't about me. This is about you. I really hate to see you get hurt. And I would hate it even more if you were suddenly gone from EM and I couldn't see you around anymore," He held a finger up to someone who was waving him over from across the room. "I just wanted to plant the idea in your head, love. Do with it what you will. You're a smart girl. You'll figure things out. Now if you'll excuse me, those people over there think you've monopolized my fabulous company for far too long." He smiled and walked away.
Hannah walked toward the sitting room, placing her now-empty wine glass on an empty tray a server lowered toward her. Thanks to impossible amounts of liquor that was being consumed, people had finally found courage to create a dance floor. The band was in the middle of an up-beat oldie but goody and couples and even singles were laughing and spinning around happily.
She had done this, she realized with a smile. This was her doing. The band, the music selection, the food, even the booze. She had made this happen and made these people have an enjoyable atmosphere. Pride like she hadn't felt in a long time welled up inside her and she swayed a little. Suddenly a wine glass was lowered toward her face from behind her. She reached for it dumbly, expecting a smart quip from James to follow.
"What are you doing standing here all by your lonesome?"came an unfamiliar voice, instead.
Hannah turned to find a man standing there. He looked somewhere into his late middle-age and had salt-and-pepper hair and deep brown eyes. "There's that pretty face," he said with a smile that turned her stomach.
She silently wished James hadn't been right about this particular, seemingly inevitable, part of her evening. There wasn't much she could do to properly excuse herself from this man's attentions. And her supposed savior was nowhere in sight.
"So what's your name, gorgeous?" he asked, and she detected a southern drawl.
"I'm Hannah," she answered, glancing past him.
"Beautiful name for a beautiful girl," he responded, touching her arm.
She felt her skin crawl and he didn't remove his hand, instead it sat there, heavy and clammy and feeling like an invasion.
"So what is a pretty thing like you doing here?" His fingers started running up and down her arm and she cringed at the dread-like feeling welling up inside her belly. She drank her wine in a long sip and hoped it would help her deal with this more diplomatically than she felt she currently could.
"I'm an associate of Elliott and James," she answered for what felt like the hundredth time that night.
"I see. Well, I am in construction," he said in a way that suggested she should be impressed. "But let's not talk about business. This event here is supposed to be for pleasure. I am very interested in pleasure. Maybe you can find a way to show me some pleasure. From the looks of you, you were built for it."
Oh, God. Hannah felt trapped. In any other situation, she would have attacked him with a smart comeback, slapped him, walked away... anything other than stand there and have a man old enough to be her father rake his hands over her skin and look at her as if she were a piece of meat. But she couldn't insult him; who knew how important he might be to the company. And she couldn't slap him or walk away either. It was the most uncomfortable sensation she had ever experienced and she felt as if she couldn't breathe.
"Bob," came a voice behind her and she nearly fell against him. Elliott. He stood behind her, just slightly to her side so he could look at Bob directly.
She looked up with him, feeling suddenly, foolishly, incredibly emotional. She knew tears swam in her eyes and she fought them but then Elliott looked down at her and saw. Something in his expression changed. Where before he had seemed curious, he looked for a second softly at her, almost worried. Then that was quickly replaced by a quiet anger.
"Elliott," Bob answered, suddenly releasing her arm and it fell limply to her side. "I was just getting to know your little associate here," he said with a mischievous smile and had the audacity to wink at her.
"Yes, well if you'll excuse us," Elliott said, his hand reaching for hers. He took her empty wine glass and thrust it at Bob who snatched it, confused.
She followed, slightly pulled by him to the dance floor. The music had just turned to a slow song and Elliott pulled her close, one hand resting on her hip, the other holding her arm outward, clasping it with his.
