Page 62 of At His Beck & Call

Oliver stops a few feet from us, his eyes dark and threatening as he glares at James.

“Is there a problem here?” Oliver’s deep rumbling voice rolls over me like a prayer.

James immediately backs off, looking away and gathering himself together, the mask slipping back over his face.

“This is a private conversation,” he says with a gentle smile, the charm coming out in full force. The switch has been flipped.

Oliver doesn’t move, other than his eyes transferring slowly to me, flicking over my body and back up again, as if looking for injuries.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he says coolly, “but I thought Lissa looked distressed.”

The use of my first name is a red flag to a bull, and James stills, his eyes darting to me and back to Oliver, his mouth twisted.

“How do you two know each other?” he demands, unable to keep the suspicion out of his voice. I glance at Oliver, but he doesn’t jump in and answer, waiting instead for me to speak.

“This is Oliver Heath,” I say to James as he sizes Oliver up with a long, assessing look. “He’s my boss.”

James blinks, then turns to face Oliver, pivoting smoothly on his heel as his whole demeanor relaxes. Evidently, now that he knows Oliver is a man ofbusiness,they’re on a level playing field.

“I see. I didn’t know you had gotten another job,” he says, and I can hear a familiar hint of ridicule in his voice. “Nice to meet you, Oliver.”

Please, God, don’t let this get me fired.

I don’t need Oliver knowing all my personal shit,as wellas my failings as an escort. What if he planned to fire me for trying to touch him yesterday? And now, with this on top of everything else, he’s probably totally ready to get rid of me.

I wait with bated breath for what Oliver will say in response, fully expecting him to excuse himself and leave. But Oliver’s eyes don’t leave James’s face for a second.

“Are you alright?” Oliver asks me quietly, and the question is so reminiscent of our time in his office that my cheeks heat alarmingly.

That wasn’t what I expected him to say at all. Usually, James manages to charm everyone. He’s too amiable, too good-looking; people see the package, not the contents, and assume he’s a good guy.

But Oliver is looking at James with a solid, cold glare that’s laced with pure rage.

How much of our argument did he hear?

“She’s fine,” James answers for me. “We were having a private discussion, as I said. I’m sorry if we disturbed you, but I need to speak to Lissa alone.”

Oliver doesn’t move. “I see… and how do you two know each other?” he asks, and a weight drops into my stomach as I realize what’s about to happen.

“I’m her husband,” James spits out.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

There’s a long, extended silence after those words, and Oliver's eyes widen, flickering from James to me and back again. Then he quickly recovers, squaring his shoulders.

“It doesn’t look as if Lissa wants you here,” he states firmly.

“What the fuck has it got to do with you?” James snaps.

I stare at him. It’s rare for him to lose his composure like this. Learning of Henry’s condition must have thrown him more off balance than I thought.

“I don’t like the way you were talking to her,” Oliver says smoothly, crossing his arms and looming over James. “I won’t speak for her, however. Lissa, do you want this man to be here?”

“I’m herhusband,” James growls at him, his back tensing, but my heart swells as he takes a tiny step back. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen James look intimidated, and it’s thrilling.

I stare at him, this man who tried to destroy my life, who made me feel worthless for the whole time we were married.

Then I look at Oliver. I barely know him, but he’s shown me more care in the time we’ve spent together than I’ve felt in all my years with James.