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What the ever-loving hell? I’d paid off her current bills, as a start. Hoping to find a way to discreetly give her more.
Had she not checked?
“And how much are you looking for?”
She didn't answer right away, instead staring around the room at all of us, as if the answer would be written on any of our faces.
Some of the men nodded at her encouragingly, and I clenched a fist, tempted to punch every single one of those assholes. Tucker was especially attentive that even Grace, his assistant, shifted nervously at his side.
“I’m not sure, I..." She shifted her feet, her fingers playing with the top edge of her V-neck that had all the eyes of the men, and some of the women, in the room staring at it.
She suddenly stopped her incoherent mumbling, trying to pull a number from her head, and I looked back at her, wondering what had made her pause.
Her eyes had landed on me.
I met her surprised gaze with my own dark one, unable to look away. She looked so small, so goddamn sweet, so helpless.
A lump formed in my throat.
Douglass would've hated this, having her in this room full of wolves who wanted to ravish her.
Including me.
Because I was just as desperate to bite the little bunny. See how she tasted. If the sweetness dripping from her was as addictive as I’d fantasized.
I shouldn’t be thinking of her in this way. I knew that—she was too young. And was Douglass’ daughter, the man whom I considered a father figure. But I didn’t—couldn’t—stop myself.
She looked away first and fear unfurled inside me as Saul’s grin turned from placating to impish.
"Maybe a few—ten thousand?" She finally settled on, and I blanched. God, she really was that fucking naive? I needed to get her out of this.
"I think it's a bad investment." I was tipping my hand, I knew, but Saul had already expected my interest in her. The best way forward was through action.
Everyone stared at me like I'd grown a second head.
I rarely spoke at any meetings, suffering through them in silence.
I was the only one who never brought an assistant, never participated in their games, never invested more than I had to—only enough to stay under the radar.
By speaking up, I'd given away my hand; there was no hiding it now.
“She's living in a dilapidated house, with a sister and a manservant to support, with no job or education." I gave her a cold look. “Are you even old enough to apply for a loan?”
Her face darkened, and she pursed her lips determinedly. "I just turned eighteen."
Dwight Wallbringer clutched the table in front of him, spilling his wine as he leaned forward and towards her. His assistant’s white napkin stained red as she rushed to wipe it up. Nigel and Lawrence Forthright, twins, simultaneously pulled at the restrictive tie at their neck, their dark gazes on her breasts. I purposely didn’t look towards Hawke—if he was staring at her with the same hunger, I would strangle him.
"A child," I scoffed. “Barely old enough to sign a contract."
"It's true," Saul spoke up and all eyes went to him, ping-ponging between the three of us. All eyes, except for Summer's, who stared me down like she wanted to hold my face under water until I couldn't breathe. At least the girl had some fire to her.
That might be her saving grace.
"We don't usually take on unfriendly loans like this,” Saul continued, drawing back her attention. “And, if what Mr. Craven says is true, that you have little to your name--"
"But, that-that's why I'm here." She interrupted. The flame of embarrassment from her face was gone, replaced by an angry red, "If I had money, I wouldn’t have come…”
At the displeased look on Saul’s face, her voice petered out.
