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“Hey, we’re dancing, mate.” Liam steps in the way.
“Look,mate,” I know Oscar hates that term, “unless you want a black eye, let us go,” he snarls, seemingly scary for the first time ever. Shit, I’ve never seen Oscar so defensive. Oscar pulls us away, and I walk numblybeside him, shocked by his display, but Liam is having none of it.
“Are you threatening me?” Oh god, here we go. I groan and place a hand on Liam’s chest to placate him, but he slaps it away, and Oscar gets right in his face.
“Don't touch her like that!” Oscar spits, pushing the taller guy back. Liam is more intoxicated than I realised. He regains his balance quickly and advances on us both but is stopped when a guy with a trim beard and a shaved head steps between us all, tall, bulky and mean-as-hell looking. Where on earth does Callan find these thugs?
“Please leave,” he says over the music. It’s clear he is security. His voice is loud and unmistakably final. Liam isn’t alone. Two friends pull him away, and with a last tug back from his mates, Liam leaves, and I look at the man glowering at Oscar.
“Tony, we were just leaving.” Tony, his cousin. I can’t see the resemblance. Oscar is athletic, but nothing like this man’s stature. His chest is big, his eyes hard. They have clearly lived two very different lives.
“You are. She’s not.” He looks at me. “Come with me,” he says, his jaw locking. I can see by the way he glances at me disdainfully that he doesn’t like me.
“Fuck. Fuck!” Oscar yells, his face sagging in worry. “Tony, please let me come back with her. I can’t let anything happen to her,” he pleads.
Tony laughs and shakes his head.
“He knew you would say that, so here’s your ultimatum. Leave, or he will hurt her, stay, and her pain is on you.” Tony may have leaned into Oscar, but I hear the threat loud and clear.
I snap to look up at Callan, who merely shrugs down at me. He’s playing to win, using his reputation to manipulate us. I grab Oscar and hug him hard.
“I will be fine, promise. I’ll call you as soon as I leave,” I say fiercely. I will be okay. I have to believe that.
“I’m waiting outside for you,” he says vehemently. I nod and kiss his cheek. Oscar stands still, watching me walk away with Tony before he begins shuffling his way through the throng of people. Tony holds me firmly as he manoeuvres us through the club until we hit the wide and floating staircase. A security guard removes the rope and nods us through. As soon as we are above, I expect to find Callan waiting for me, but the VIP area is occupied by a few other celebrities and over-excited patrons who have managed to haggle their way up to the clouds of luxury Callan has designed. The gauze curtains are just the start of how utterly stunning it is up here.
“This way,” Tony mutters. I glance at him and see the disapproving frown on his face. Arsehole!
He, like thousands of other people, has made his mind up about me without so much as an introduction.
“Don't look at me like that. Maybe tell your boss to leave me alone, then I wouldn't have to get in here just to find him to tell him myself,” I snap. He shakes his head and stalks ahead. I quicken my pace in my heels and growl when Tony doesn’t hold each curtain open but lets it drop back in place in front of me, so I’m snatching them out of my face. “Very mature.”
Scoffing, I find him waiting beside a door. He looks towards the ceiling at a camera, and the door disappears into the wall, opening for us. I expect him to leave me, but he carries on his way, and I follow him down a door-lined corridor until we reach a few steps.
“Up there. Knock before you enter,” he says brusquely. I give him a false smile and climb the steps and walk straight in, ignoring his insult as he stomps away. The big door leads straight into Callan’s office. The space is clean-cut and white all over, nothing like the dark wood office at Skyn.
“You wanted my attention, now you have it,” Callan spits, replacing his suit jacket from where it was placed over the back of a chair, “but let me tell you one thing, Zara—usually my attention is the last thing people want to attract.” He hasn’t looked at me, and it’s not until I'm standing in his presence that I realise I have dressed for him. The all-in-one black pantsuit is both revealing and elegant. As much as I need to do this to cut all ties with this man, I find his attraction oddly fascinating.
“And yet I’ve had your attention despite not ever wanting it, funny little fact you have missed,” I drawl, walking across the floor to the windows overlooking the club and VIP area. He must look down on all this and pick victims off, choosing who isn't worthy and who can take a step closer to the clouds of the VIP. My lip curls, although I mask my emotions before I turn to look at him. He has finally graced me with his eyes.
“You look like you’re wearing Catwoman’s underwear,” he remarks, adjusting his cuffs and throwing a disgruntled look my way. “And you want my attention,” he drawls before landing me with a stare so harsh that I stiffen. He is daring me to deny it and not for kicks—he is furious at me. A dare to a man like Callan is an invitation to death. It’s not a game or a joke.
“It was nice at first, but I’ve come to realise I don't want nice, and I don't want your attention.” Damn my voice for wobbling. It’s him. His movements put me on edge. Oscar’s fear has become my own.
Callan is a foot away from me. I crane my neck to meet that dead stare. His eyes are so emotionless, but his body speaks for him.
“You came all this way just to tell me that.” He chuckles.
“Yes.”
“You’re a terrible liar. Why make so much effort for a lie?” He cups my face so gently. The tension in his office is stifling, and his body is bristling, so this softness confuses me. “Do you always dress in such a manner to provoke a lack of appeal in men, or do you not own a mirror?” he breathes.
“I’m on a night out, in a club!” I defend. Am I that transparent to him? I look away, embarrassed. Oscar’s words come back to me, and I shrink on the inside. It’s true, I have no experience with men, certainly not in this capacity.
“My club,” he counters. He is so close, and I look right in those eyes: so black. So unnerving.
“Are you wearing contacts?” I stupidly whisper. Callan’s head drops forwards with a smirk.
“No, Zara. I’m not wearing contacts. Are you going to continue lying?”
