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“So, I will see you downstairs in ten minutes,” Peter smirks and Elle’s glower turns back to him.
“Do I look ten minutes away from being ready?”
“I thought you were just telling them that you weren’t coming?”
“You know, sarcasm is not a good look on you, Peter.”
“Just trying in on for size, Miss Maxwell.” He smiles and nods at her. “I’ll see you downstairs, keep it prompt.”
Elle shuts the door as Peter walks away. I’m right behind her and I find myself pressing against her and caging her against the door. She spins and looks at me with angry eyes.
“Just fuck off, Lance. I’ve had a shit couple of days, mostly because you were in them and now I have to smile and make nice with my parents for a couple of hours. So, I don’t have time to be your hacky-sack tonight.”
I flinch at her words, taking a step back to give her the room she needs. I see the water pooling at the bottom of her eyes at my stark reminder that I had hurt her so bad that I couldn’t possibly have her in my life again.
“I need to get ready,” she whispers.
“Fine, I’ll leave.” I kiss her forehead as the first tear falls and let myself out.
When the door closes behind me, I scrub my hand over my face. I want nothing more than to go home and be close to Hayden right now. So, I head back downstairs. Back outside, I see that guy, Peter, on the phone, looking intently at the busted lock.
“No, I don’t want like-for-like. Get a high security lock installed and talk to the building management company about installing a buzzer system, we can talk about covering the cost.” He looks at me when he listens to whatever the person on the other end has to say. I know from his expression that he wants to talk to me and I find myself interested in what he has to say.
When he’s off the phone, I jerk my head at the door. “You’re allowed to just change the lock?”
He shrugs. “My job is ensuring the Maxwells’ safety. Eleanor is no exception. Plus, people tend not to say no to me.” I don’t miss the warning in his tone and it’s my turn to smile at him amusingly. “You’re Lance Preston.”
Huh. That does surprise me. “You know my name?”
He chuckles at that and I have an intruding thought that Brent would not be happy with me being here and having this conversation without him. I’m not a fucking coward, I don’t need to hide behind my cousin.
“I know who you are,” he says seriously so I don’t misunderstand his meaning. “I knew who you were when you became housemates with Eleanor. I did background checks on all of you. Your cousin has a few misdemeanours to his name but you, of course, are squeaky clean. No son of Sydney Preston gets caught, huh?”
I can feel the anger bubbling in my stomach. Is he threatening me? “What is it you’re trying to say?”
He shrugs again with an annoyingly smug smile. “Just that I know who you are and that I take Miss Maxwell’s safety as a personal interest.”
“Are you trying to warn me off?” I laugh as the suggestion leaves me, nothing this guy could do or say would keep me away from Elle.
“I would never interfere in her life like that,” he says, far less amused. “Eleanor is smart and strong-willed; she can make her own decision about who to involve herself with. But when someone of your standing is in her life, they’re on my radar.” This time, there was no concealing his threat. “You should also know that I was the one who collected her that last time you fucked up and I don’t like to see her cry.”
I felt beaten at that. Sure, I want to punch this guy right in the face for talking to me like that, but the fact is, is he’s right. He’s also looking out for Elle and I can’t fault him for that. I wonder if Elle knows she has someone fighting in her corner. “I don’t either,” I conceded.
“Peter?” A voice calls from the parking area. I look over to see a man in a grey suit standing next to a black limo. “Who are you talking to?” he asks, looking me up and down.
“Does he know who I am?” I ask Peter quietly before he can answer.
“I don’t see any reason why he should,” he answers me before calling back. “A friend of Miss Maxwell’s, Sir.”
The man opens the car door and speaks to someone inside before an elegant woman gets out. She is much shorter than the man, wearing fine clothing and sparkling jewellery. Her hair is a golden honey blonde, just as Elle had been when we first met her. This must be the mother. They both make their way over to us and he holds his hand out to me.
“Byron Maxwell,” he introduces himself in a smooth baritone.
I don’t need his introduction. Elle often spoke about her parents and how little they saw eye to eye with her. It used to make me so mad at how she’d end a call with them or come back from a dinner so upset. I’d asked their names so I could look into them but as soon as she’d reluctantly told me her father’s name, no sleuth work was required. Anyone who read a paper or watched the news knew Byron Maxwell, founder and CEO of Maxwell Shipping, the country’s largest and most successful shipping company; they import and export goods all over the world. Byron Maxwell is the richest man in the country, making his voice one that people listen to. He involves himself in politics, invests in upstarts—giving them the clout behind them to succeed in almost any market—and he is well known for charitable donations. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that Byron Maxwell ran the city.
“Lance Preston,” I shake his hand firmly.
“You’re a friend of my daughter?” the woman says, staring at me positively gleefully.
