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“You good?”
“As if you care.” She scoffs, shoving her door open and hopping out without another word. She stomps across the car park, her boots smacking against the concrete in her haste to get away from me.
When she comes to a stop, she stares at the entrance, and I can see the cogs turning in her brain. She straightens her back, pulls in a deep breath, but takes no steps.
Twisting her head, she faces me with an impatient look, and I send her a wink. There’s nothing more fun than getting under her skin . . . well, unless you count getting her under me.
Joining her at the door, I press a hand against her lower back, guiding her inside. The maître d’ leads us to a small booth tucked away in the back where Gregory already waits for us.
He’s wearing a grey pinstripe suit that’s at least one size too small, and his balding grey hair is slicked back on his head, with what looks like chip pan oil.
He’s a greasy fucking prick, and the moment his eyes take in Fallon, I’m ready to drag her out of here and far away from what’s bound to be a wholly unpleasant evening. He’s staring at her like she’s a gift waiting to be opened.
A gift only for him.
“What a pleasure,” he leers, leaning in to kiss her cheek. Before he can land his lips on her though, I band an arm around her waist and pull her back into my chest. Holding my other hand out, I offer it to him. He grips it, applying an unnecessary amount of pressure when we shake.
“Good evening, Gregory.”
“Theodore.” His jaw sets when he takes in my position behind her, though, I could give two shits about that when Fallon relaxes under my touch. My hand traces soft circles on the satin of her dress, all the while my eyes never leave the man standing before me.
“Hiya,” Fallon blurts out, looking anywhere but at him. She leans further into me when his gaze settles on her again, and I take great pleasure in pressing myself into her firmly, showing her what that small little dress is doing to me. “How are you?”
Her words come out in a breathy stutter, and I chuckle into her ear, low enough that only she can hear. At least if I can keep her mind on me, she won’t notice the predatory look in his eyes or the way he takes stock of every inch of skin she has on display.
I’ve no doubts who picked out that outfit for her, and while I enjoy seeing it on her body, I’m fucking pissed that everyone in this room gets to see her in it as well.
Gregory especially.
“Good, thank you, sweetheart,” he answers far too pleasantly, with a wide smile just for her. “Shall we?”
He steps back, allowing us to take a seat in the booth. I push Fallon in first, standing over her as she moves down the seat. There’s no way she’s sitting in reach of that slimy bastard.
Over my dead fucking body.
The evening is as weird and uncomfortable as I assumed it would be. Gregory guides the conversation, though, I stay quiet through most of it. The way he looks at me is eery and beyond inappropriate for a man of his age.
When Theodore slips out of the booth to go to the bathroom, Gregory slides over to me, taking his seat. The way he presses his thigh against mine has me pulling away, my back now flush against the wall next to me. His grey eyes move to my face, holding mine while his tongue slips out, swiping over his bottom lip.
“I’m not sure if I told you already, but you look beautiful tonight, Fallon,” he tells me, his eyes raking over my body—not for the first time tonight. His hand falls onto my thigh, his thumb moving back and forth over the soft skin. “Your mother was right when she told me how you grew up into a beautiful girl. The pictures of you over the years don’t compare.”
“I’m sorry, pictures?”
“Yes, your mother has kept me up to date with you for many years, since I first saw you as a young girl.” My stomach churns at his words, and the hand that still moves across my skin. I try to pull away, but he clamps down, keeping me in place. “You don’t remember me, do you?”
Shaking my head, I rack my brain, but there’s nothing. Not a single memory or flash of recognition comes to mind.
The first and only time I recall meeting him is at the gala, and he’s not the kind of man you’d forget.
Though, not in a good way.
More like aI’d rather shit in my hands and clap than spend any time with youway.
“I’m sorry, no,” I tell him, my body tensing as his hand moves higher on my thigh. He leans in, his hot breath fanning my face. The scent of his body odour fills my nostrils, and my stomach revolts. His eyes linger on my throat when I try to swallow over the lump forming in my throat.
“That’s a shame, but I’m sure we’ll make new memories soon.”
A cough sounds at the end of the booth. My eyes flick up, my body sagging in relief when Gregory removes his hand and moves away.
