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Jesus, these elevators take forever, Henri thought, and it hadn’t escaped his attention that several of the others waiting were staring at him.
The woman to his right was particularly obvious in her disapproval. Not that he gave two shits. She was dressed in a black pin skirt with a white blouse and matching jacket. Her black stilettos, string of pearls, and Louis Vuitton bag screamed money for everyone to see. Just as her upturned nose and assessing once-over of him screamed snob for him to see.
Henri knew his height often intimidated people, as did his piercing and the fact he was wearing jeans and leather in a corporate building. But shit, lady, I showered and put a belt on this morning. You can stop clutching your pearls. She wasn’t his type anyway, and as the elevator dinged and the doors opened, Henri stepped forward and held an arm out to keep them that way.
The woman passed by quickly and scurried to the back—as far away from him as possible—and once it was full and the doors slid shut, Henri couldn’t help himself. He glanced over his shoulder and winked at her, and those judgmental eyes widened until they all but encompassed her face.
Henri shook his head. He would never understand people’s ability to judge someone before they knew them, and he couldn’t help but wonder what her reaction would’ve been if he’d been in a suit and holding a briefcase.
Twenty bazillion floors later, Henri reached the top level of Mitchell & Madison and stepped out into one of the most impressive lobbies he’d ever been in. Over the years he’d worked many different jobs, some legal, some not so legal, and while he hadn’t officially been on the books at any of the law firms in New Orleans—more like paid under the table—he’d been around enough lawyers to know that you only got an office like this if you were really fucking good.
So it was no surprise to him that this was where Priest had landed, because as far as Henri knew, Priest was the best.
Henri looked around the currently empty space and made his way toward the curved mahogany desk directly in front of him. There was a large, mottled glass divider that boldly announced the firm’s name to anyone who was unsure of where they were, and the soft strains of classical music that filled the area reminded a person they were in a place that required a certain amount of decorum—something he was surely lacking.
Henri glanced at the clock on the wall, and saw it was just about to turn eight thirty. He was early, but he also knew Priest, and if this place said it opened at eight, then that meant Priest would be here at seven thirty—if not earlier.
Just as he was about to shoot off a text to the princess asking where his grumpier half was, a man in a navy suit, wearing black-rimmed glasses, walked around the divider with a coffee cup in hand.
“Tiffany, did you get the—” When he noticed no one was there, he frowned and was clearly about to go off in search for “Tiffany” when he looked up and noticed Henri standing there.
Henri waited for the usual once-over and dismissal from the man who was clearly someone important, judging by the tailored cut of his suit and commanding way he held himself. But instead, he stepped around the desk and walked over.
“Sorry, I didn’t see you standing there. I don’t know where Tiffany has disappeared to. Has anyone helped you yet?”
The man then held his hand out, and as Henri shook it, he was struck by what an incredibly good-looking person he was staring at.
“Are you here to see someone? Maybe I can help. I’m Logan Mitchell, one of the owners here.”
No shit, Henri thought, as Logan’s full lips curved into an arrogant grin. He was no doubt used to people being struck dumb by his face, and that was when Henri was hit with an image, a flash of recognition from Priest’s wedding, when a ridiculously attractive man had blocked his attempt to talk with his former friend.
This was that man. He was one of Priest’s work partners? Wonder how Julien and Robbie feel about that?
“Yeah, hi. I’m actually looking for Joel. He’s not expecting me, but—”
“You’re looking for Priest?” The intelligent eyes behind those glasses, which had been nothing but professional a second ago, were now giving Henri a very different kind of once-over. One that was both appreciative and…curious.
“That’s right. Priest,” Henri said. “I always forget that’s what he goes by around here.”
Logan’s eyes narrowed, but then he chuckled. “I thought that’s what he went by just about everywhere.”
Henri gave a tight-lipped smile, and when it was clear he wasn’t going to elaborate further, Logan turned and headed back to the front desk. Henri followed him across the lobby. Logan picked up the phone and hit a button, cradled the receiver between his ear and shoulder, and said, “Who should I say is calling?”
