Page 72 of Fallen Hero

We’d arrived on the fifty-fourth floor before Amir could be seated. As soon as Amir’s eyes landed on Calista, Fallon and I were immediately dismissed. Not that I could blame the asshole. Calista was a sight in her black dress.

Skintight black dress that covered more skin than it showed. But the high collar that covered her cleavage managed to highlight her large tits. The hem hit innocently just below her knees, showing off her curves. All of that before you got to her devil-red spiked heels that matched her lipstick. Shades of black and gray on her eyelids made her eyes impossibly blue. Whatever she’d put in her hair made the normally glossy strands gleam.

Hands down, she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. Made up, she was striking. And I was going to rip Amir’s arm from his body and beat him with it if he didn’t remove his hand from Calista’s lower back as he guided her through the dining room.

I could end this whole operation in the three seconds it would take me to kill him. There would be no invitation forthcoming because there would be no auction after I bled out the host in the middle of a swank, busy restaurant.

Fuck.

“Status.” Pete came through in my ear.

“Amir’s got his hand on Calista. I only got Mase from the back, but I think he’s having his own personal earthquake. Might not want to stay in the garage in case his shaking becomes such that the building crumbles.”

I said nothing in response as I followed Calli and Amir out onto the terrace.

The motherfucker didn’t drop his hand when the hostess stopped at their cozy table. There was no quiet corner but only because the dining area was circular. A quick scan of the seating made it clear Amir had the tables on either side of theirs removed for privacy.

Slick motherfucker.

Before the hostess could move away, Amir stopped her. “Clase Azul Ultra Añejo.”

Cheap motherfucker thought he could impress her with a three-thousand-dollar bottle of tequila.

“Moët & Chandon Impérial,” Calista said, as the hostess backed away. “Vintage, please.”

I bit back a laugh.

She saw his tequila and raised to a seven-thousand-dollar bottle of champagne.

Good girl.

I couldn’t see Amir’s face, but I did have Calli in profile. The catlike grin on her face was magnificent.

Amir pulled out a chair and dipped his chin. “Please.”

Calista took her seat.

Amir turned to me and flicked his wrist. “That’ll be all.”

Oh, yeah, fuck yeah, I was going to beat him with his severed arm.

Before I could tell him he could fuck himself, Calli jumped in. “My guard is not to leave my sight, Mr. Bakir. I was clear about that with your secretary. He will step to the side while we dine but he will not be out of touching distance for the remainder of the evening. If this was a problem, it should’ve been conveyed immediately. I would hate for this evening to be a waste. My time is to be respected, as is yours.”

Cool, calm, and firm.

Wordlessly, Amir took his seat. I stepped into the shadows, keeping the least amount of distance between us as I could manage.

“You’re not what I expected, Ms. Hawthorne,” Amir admitted.

“What did you expect?”

“Not you.” There was appreciation in his tone, and a goodly amount.

Slimy motherfucker.

Amir made small talk about the city, pointing out all the buildings, giving her a history lesson I was sure she didn’t care about. He only stopped his commentary when a waiter in a tux dropped off their drinks, making a show of setting down the gold bottle of champagne along with two flutes. The less expensive bottle of tequila, in its black decanter, was placed in front of Amir, and with it two long-stemmed glasses.

The waiter poured Calli half a flute of bubbly before Amir dismissed him with another wrist flick.