His hand gripped the phone. “What?”
“Yeah, and um” —she paused— “Roguewould like to see you.”
Oh fuck!
Chapter Twenty-Three
Nice office.
Addison and Cleo were seated on the couch as she silently glanced around the room. It was grandiose and slightly over the top for a club owner, though she wouldn’t be voicing her opinion. She sensed it wouldn’t be appreciated.
There was a large desk with Rogue currently sitting behind it. Trey, the other owner as Cleo had explained, was close to the bar set up in the corner. On the opposite side, and where they were seated, was a sitting area. Not your typical office.
The décor was almost elegant. Why the hell was she focused on the office?
It was a good distraction for a confusing but tense situation. Addison still wasn’t sure why they were seemingly being held hostage. Her car was in the parking lot. If Rogue wanted them gone, they could’ve left. But he obviously had other ideas, having her call Cross and demanding he come to the club. She didn’t know his motive or reasoning.
And I’m not going to get it.
Quinn smiled, standing near the edge of the coffee table. “Cleo, Addison? Can I get you something to drink?”
“No, you fucking can’t!” Rogue shouted.
The menacing tone of his voice was enough to tighten every muscle in her body. Quinn, on the other hand, hadn’t even flinched. She was the epitome of calm.Impressive.
“We have a fully stocked bar downstairs. I can get you anything you want.”
It was a strange vibe. Something she’d expect from a dinner party hostess.
Addison held up her hand and forced a smile. “I’m good. Thank you.”
“If you change your mind, let me know.”
“Jesus fucking Christ, Quinn!” Rogue slammed his hand on the desk.
The woman walked away without a glance at Rogue.
Cleo leaned closer, lowering her voice. “Quinn is Rogue’s wife.”
What? Addison jerked her head.
“Shemarriedhim?”
Cleo nodded but didn’t seem as disgusted as Addison felt. The man had been nothing but rude, intimidating, and threatening to all those around him since he’d walked through the door.
The waiting was hard. No one talked except Rogue. He’d occasionally dole out orders to the men in the dark suits right outside the office. Cleo had mentioned they were his security. It seemed like overkill for a man who ran a nightclub. Addison wouldn’t question it. At least not verbally.
“They should be here soon,” Cleo said, grasping the edge of her seat and swinging her legs.
“They?”
Rogue had her call Cross. No one else.
“The club.”
“Why would they all come?”
Cleo slowly turned, scanning her face. Her cheeks pinkened, and her smile was tight. “Killcreek and Rogue don’t get along. I don’t know why, but Rogue pretty much hates them.”
