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Maybe all his rapidly fluctuating sugar levels have affected his brain? I haven’t figured out a suitable answer by the time I follow him out front and into the waiting Mercedes. He must have communicated with James beforehand because the driver takes off without any direction from Graeme, forcing me to ask myself.
“Where are we going?”
“To the club,” he says, answering me directly for once. Whatever ease he’d had in his penthouse is gone, replaced by the icy scowl that transforms his face whenever Adrian Riley seems to be the topic of conversation. “I have some business to attend to.”
I can’t tell if it’s merely a statement…
Or a threat.
CHAPTER29
evie
It’s almost like I’m his assistant again as I follow dutifully in his shadow the moment we pull up before the club, and Bellamy steps out onto the curb. It’s a short trip through the lobby, where Dahlia is waiting by the elevator. “Nice to see you again, Evie.”
She winks at me, and I can’t stop myself from reaching up to finger my hair. In the end, she was right about it needing a trim. Still, I can’t deny that this moment feels awkward as hell after our spa day was so rudely interrupted. Rather than show us to Adrian Riley’s office or private suite, she takes us to another level, where women and men alike wander an elegant series of halls.
“Bellamy,” Riley greets, appearing in a nearby doorway in an almost perfectly timed arrival. “And Ms. King.” He glances at me with a curious expression that I don’t have time to decipher before he leads us down an adjacent hallway and into a spacious lounge, decorated in accents of black and gold. “Have a seat.”
Bellamy sits first, taking up a leather chaise on the opposite side of the room. I follow him, and I’ve barely settled down when a trickle of people enters the room after us.
“I thought I would introduce you to our core members,” Riley casually suggests.
Bellamy’s frown deepens as he takes stock of the men who crowd the room, filling whatever seats are still available. They’re all well-dressed, handsome, and seem to have the same polished charm as Adrian, complete with dashing smiles and vague expressions.
Sitting there feels a bit like being inside a warped funhouse mirror, with a million variations of the same reflection staring back at me from every angle. If anything, Bellamy handles the “meeting” in style. Even I’m enthralled by the confident way he carries himself as he makes introductions with every club member. Tucked by his side, I go mostly unnoticed—until Riley singles me out by talking to me directly.
“Evelyn. There’s no reason for you to waste your afternoon away in boredom.” He jerks his chin, and a man steps forward as if on cue. “Allow me to have you escorted on a proper tour this time. You’ll have your run of the club—”
“She doesn’t mind staying here.” And there it is again, that infamous Bellamy drawl. His voice is just an octave higher than that foreboding growl, but at the moment, I’m not sure which is worse—the tone, or the cold gleam in his eye that warns me not to move a single muscle. “Do you, Evelyn?”
My mouth opens, but before I can get a single word out, Riley cuts over me, “I think it would be best if we conducted our business inprivate, Bellamy.”
I don’t even look at Graeme to see how he processes that statement. Instead, I stand, and force myself to smile at the man beside Adrian, who holds out his hand.
“Michael here will give you the grand tour,” Riley says.
His smile is positively dashing, but I don’t even have to look to picture the glower of the man behind me. For three years, I’ve dutifully stood by Graeme Bellamy’s side, risking life, limb, and injury should he feel the urge to hurtle something across a room.
But even I know when a risk is too great to take, and the tension between him and Adrian Riley isn’t even worth my curiosity to withstand.
Taking Michael’s hand, I eagerly leave, keeping my ears peeled for any signs of violence.
Though, it’s not like I could intervene should the two men come to blows.
* * *
The club sure is grand—not that I see much of it. With little fanfare, Michael brings me to a large seating area bathed in shadow where women dressed in skin-tight gowns flit around with trays of champagne.
I don’t know if it’s the intimate setting, or the fact that I swear I can feel Graeme Bellamy’s gaze boring through the back of my head from several rooms over. My skin feels hot, and the air seems to thicken with every breath I take. As Michael babbles about his professional credentials, something in me snaps.
I need to breathe. I need to think. I need to get organized. Suddenly, as if answering my prayers, I spot a familiar face mingling with a pair of handsome men in ebony suits near the back of the room. With a hasty apology muttered to my companion, I nearly bolt across the room in my rush to head her off.
“Evie?” Dahlia beams when she sees me and seems genuinely happy. “Couldn’t stay away?”
“Something like that,” I reply, glancing back for my companion. “Would it be too much for our burgeoning friendship if I asked for a rescue mission? I just need some fresh air.”
Her smile widens. “Of course.” Boldly, she hooks her arm through mine and pivots, guiding me across the room and through a doorway. A moment later, we’re entering an office that looks remarkably like Bellamy’s.
