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Chapter Twenty-Two

Krystina

True to his word, Alexander sent Hale to pick me up promptly at seven o’clock. I was somewhat disappointed Alexander wasn’t in the car, but the drive to the penthouse ended up being a short one. Alexander lived closer to me than I had realized.

When we arrived, Hale walked me through the lobby of the building to the penthouse elevator and inserted his key card. While we were waiting for the lift to come, I glanced over at the security desk and saw Jeffrey, the young man who had been so eager to please Alexander. He nodded his head politely when I caught his eye, and I afforded him a small wave in return.

“Please step inside, Miss Cole. Mr. Stone is waiting for you. Enjoy your evening,” Hale said to me.

I looked up at him in surprise. That was the first time Hale had ever spoken directly to me. Even more shocking was the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. He was usually so stern and severe, and I was caught off guard.

I looked at him, I mean really looked at him, for the first time. He was much older than me, probably around fifty if I had to take a guess, and not nearly as menacing as I had initially thought. He had kind eyes, the sort of eyes that would light up with laughter given the opportunity. My guess was Alexander didn’t give him much time for laughing.

The fact Hale had suddenly found his voice had left me in a lurch, and an uncomfortable silence settled between us. I had never thought about conversing with Hale, as I had always been so focused on Alexander.

Does Hale know about his boss’s alternative lifestyle? And if he knows, does he approve of it? What must he think about me?

As the new realization took root, I found it difficult to look Hale in the eyes. The confidence I had felt upon entering the building was suddenly gone, replaced by embarrassed insecurities. Words tumbled out of my mouth awkwardly.

“I, um…thanks, Hale,” I returned and quickly ducked into the waiting elevator.

The doors closed, and I waited while the lift climbed. Alone, in the confined space of the elevator, my apprehension grew. I knew I was acting ridiculous, but I couldn’t control my wavering conviction. And it wasn’t just because of the awkwardness I had just experienced with Hale. After the research I’d done earlier today, I couldn’t shake the feeling I was walking blindly into a lion’s den.

I swallowed a lump beginning to form in my throat as the elevator continued its ascent. The downward force of rising so quickly did nothing to help, and the lump soon settled into a knot in the pit of my stomach.

What am I doing? I must be crazy.

The elevator came to a halt, and the doors slid open. Alexander was waiting for me. He was leaning against a wall, a diabolical expression on his handsome face.

“Good evening, Krystina,” he drawled.

Just one look at him, and I instantly paled. I struggled to control the tremble of nerves threatening to take over.

I didn’t step into a lion’s den. It’s more like I casually strolled into the devil’s lair.

Pictures from the internet, combined with childhood nightmares of monsters and vampires, flashed in my mind. I had no trouble picturing Alexander wielding a whip, with me shackled to some dirty dungeon wall while a strange, masked man sucked my blood.

“Krystina, what’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Alexander rushed to my side in alarm, his long legs closing the distance between us in a matter of seconds.

“It’s nothing. I just…it’s nothing,” I said, shaking my head to rid my overactive imagination of the dark images.

This is real life, not some Stephen King flick.

“I hope you’re still not worried about being drunk last night because I can assure you, it’s no big deal. It happens to the best of us,” he said offhandedly.

Yeah, right.

I found it difficult to believe the sophisticated Alexander Stone allowed himself ever to get drunk. Not even once.

“No, no—it’s not that,” I assured him, still feeling uneasy. “We just need to talk about some things, that’s all.”

“Come into the living room. I already have drinks poured and a fire going,” he said, gently taking hold of my elbow and guiding me over to one of the leather sofas.

The heat of the fire felt good, warming my suddenly cold and clammy hands. Once we were comfortably seated, Alexander handed me a glass of some sort of yellowish-brown liquid. Brandy, port, whiskey—it didn’t matter what it was. I took a huge gulp, experiencing the pungent syrupy taste as it went down. I allowed myself a minute to gather my thoughts, letting the warmth of the alcohol wash over me.

Alexander’s eyebrows rose in astonishment.

“Sorry,” I apologized and quickly set the drink on the coffee table.