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  If she discovered that to be the case, she could quit and walk away. But Flick wasn’t ready to do that yet. Lisa Lewis had worked here, and she had gotten herself mixed up with someone. Flick hoped that either that someone was Whyte and he would reveal himself, or it wasn’t Whyte and he could help her establish what happened.

  When Rushe got home, Flick would explain her findings. Their argument still dogged her. Flick knew he did not intend to screw around. But sending him out that door angry meant he was alert, in the frame of mind he had to be to do whatever was necessary. It might not have been her aim but she also hoped it would make him more eager to return to her.

  They weren’t mushy and as far as she was concerned, couples who insisted on “not parting angry” had to be insecure. Flick missed Rushe, she craved his presence, his body, and his voice. She could wax lyrical, but there was no need because it came down to one simple point: she loved Rushe, and he loved her.

  But going on a date with another man... might take some explaining.

  She had started the next day full of gusto, by lunchtime it had waned, and by the evening, Flick was positively nervous. In the past, it hadn’t mattered if dates were enjoyable, but this date had to be a success. Flick needed to strike a balance; she had to show interest in order to maintain his. But she couldn’t appear easy because she didn’t want Whyte getting the wrong idea.

  So she chose to wear a V-neck white silk dress that hung to her knee, and blue accessories. But when Flick looked at herself in the mirrored panel on the sliding door of the closet in their bedroom, all she could think about was Rushe.

  For a week, she had waited for word, and received none. Thoughts of trying to find or communicate with Eric or Scott flitted through her mind, but Rushe had been adamant about those men not understanding their connection.

  Flick would give Rushe a little more time, and then all bets were off. If he didn’t want her poking around in his life, then he should have provided her with a way to get in touch with him.

  Whyte had told her to meet him in the hotel lobby at eight. Flick was pleased with that arrangement, because the idea of another man at Rushe’s door wasn’t a good one.

  Tonight she altered her usual taxi route to arrive at the front of the building, rather than the back alley for the staff entrance. Flick paid the driver and exited the cab to enter the hotel.

  The Waterside Hotel should have impressed her, except her family frequented places like this. Flick had been in and out of so many high-class, luxury venues throughout her life that her first impulse on entering the vast marble lobby was to stifle a yawn.

  Everything glittered; the rumble of conversation in the lobby bar was low and distinguished. The elevator doors opened, and the rattle of wheels crossing its threshold revealed the bellhop directing a gold suitcase trolley. The scent of vanilla permeated, and every single person stood tall, believing themselves to be important.

  Flick didn’t see Whyte straightaway, so for a moment she wasn’t sure how to proceed. Then another elevator opened and Whyte appeared, as though their arrivals had been timed to coincide. He didn’t have to seek her out; he walked straight toward her, again, like it had been orchestrated.

  In a grey suit and blue shirt, Whyte did look every inch the man she expected him to be. Men like this had all the confidence in the world. Maybe it was the money, or the success, or the adoration, but men like Evan Whyte expected perfection. They entered every space like their coming had been expected, desired, needed, to somehow make the event perfect.

  Whyte was about Liam’s height of five eleven and wore a smile that reminded Flick of the library IT engineer; Whyte was everybody’s buddy.

  ‘You found us,’ Whyte said, as he came up in front of her.

  It wasn’t exactly a miracle; after all, she worked in the basement. ‘Yes,’ Flick said, quickly understanding that her role was to take his lead. ‘It’s very beautiful.’ She ensured to exude awe.

  ‘This is just the beginning,’ Whyte said. ‘Do you like the chandelier?’

  Flick looked upward in the direction he pointed to see the gleaming gold chandelier fully aglow. ‘Yes, it’s beautiful.’

  ‘You can have it; we’re having a new one installed next month.’

  ‘I don’t think it would fit in my apartment, but thanks anyway.’ Flick laughed along.

  ‘Then we’ll get you a bigger apartment.’

  Whyte took her hand and tucked it into his elbow while sweeping her around in a semi-circle to lead her toward the back of the lobby, behind the elevator banks. The sense of entitlement he displayed mirrored that of the men she had dated in her early twenties.

  In those days Flick was every inch the socialite her family expected her to be, calm – quiet, and compliant. With her family during her “first life” Flick felt out of place, just like tonight. After refusing to marry the suitor her father chose, Flick left the family. She could not fall in line as her older sisters had.

  On leaving them, she commenced her “second life” which only lasted a year. Surviving on her own for that year had been tough; she’d had to learn how to take care of herself. Then there was Rushe, hailing the beginning of her “third life”. This one was for keeps.

  ‘The building is very grand,’ she said.

  ‘I thought we would eat here, and then go upstairs to the bar for a drink,’ Whyte said. ‘Is that suitable?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Moving through the coloured glass art deco frontage, they entered an empty restaurant. Whyte directed them toward a window, and the only set table. Beyond was a quiet, external courtyard. A bottle of Cristal sat in a high-hat next to the meal laid out under silver.

  ‘I’d have expected a place like this to be busy,’ Flick said, allowing Whyte to pull out her chair and slide it in under her as she sat.

  ‘There are three restaurants in the complex,’ he said. ‘This one is my favourite. I wanted us to have our privacy.’

  ‘You are a man who knows how to impress.’

  Whyte picked up the champagne and began to pour. ‘Are you asking if I do this often?’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘No, I don’t,’ he said. ‘But you have no reason to believe that, not yet.’

  ‘Yet?’

  Placing the champagne away, he lifted the covers from their meals. ‘You’re not a vegetarian, are you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Pigeon with warm foie gras sorbet, it’s delicious.’

  Flick thought that particular nerve in her had died, but here it fizzed up again. If she needed a reminder of why she turned her back on her first life, this was it. Whyte seemed like a decent enough person, and he would probably impress most women, but Flick had to literally bite her tongue.

  Not only had he poured her drink without confirming that it was what she wanted, but he had pre-ordered food, relieving her of any choice. The cherry on the cake had to be him telling her in advance how she would enjoy it, she would find it delicious, before a single piece of cutlery had been lifted. The most Rushe would do was order pizza or slam something in the microwave, but if she didn’t want to eat it, she wouldn’t. If he had a problem with that, he’d fuck her down off her high horse.

  ‘Everything ok?’ Whyte asked.

  Flick realised he was poised to begin eating. ‘Oh, yes, sorry, this is just so... wonderful.’

  ‘You’ll love it,’ he said, gesturing with his fork.

  Flick upheld her smile and began to eat. With a reminder of her purpose, she hoped to make it through the meal without throwing something at him.

  Whyte liked to talk about himself, and Flick let him. Most of his talk didn’t seem relevant, but Flick tried to remember details. Evan Whyte was a self-made billionaire. He’d had a good start, and his parents lived a respectable life, but Whyte hadn’t been content with mediocrity, as he put it. At thirty-two he’d hit a billion, three years ahead of his target.

  The wait staff remained scarce, appearing only to clear or se
rve. At the end of the meal Flick had to force herself to smile through the nausea, as the food was rich and the champagne bubbly.

  ‘Do you have a lot of friends in the area?’ she asked. ‘A man like you must spend a lot of time globe-trotting.’

  ‘I’m setting up resorts across Europe at the moment, so yes; I spend a fair amount of time abroad.’

  ‘Last night, in the Lounge, was it a social occasion?’

  ‘Davis and I have been in business together for years. We own nightclubs across the city.’ Whyte sat forward twisting the stem of his champagne flute between his thumb and forefinger. ‘I say we own them, but actually I’ve had to bail him out a couple of times.’

  ‘What kind of nightclubs?’

  ‘Oh nothing like this, they are standard music venues frequented by the young and the reckless, not your type of place at all.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I like to dance.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it. Are you ready for that drink now?’

  Flick had already consumed two glasses of champagne, but she could have another drink. They were starting to get somewhere.

  ‘Sure.’

  Whyte escorted her from the table, back out through the lobby and to the elevator. He opened a small gold panel and put a card into a slot, not required by all residents. Below the slot, he keyed in a four-digit code on a horizontal keypad then closed the panel.

  It would be strange to drink in the Lounge, if that was their intended destination; though none of her usual colleagues should be on shift.

  ‘What about the other man?’ Flick asked. ‘Are you in business with him too?’

  ‘Joseph Galante owns the casino next door.’ Whyte curled an arm around her shoulders.

  ‘I think he’s afraid of you.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ was Whyte’s reply, but Flick saw the corner of his lips curl upward.

  The elevator came to a stop, and the bell rang as the doors slid open. A lush red carpet stretched ten feet toward a single white door. The Lounge door was black.

  Whyte’s arm remained over her shoulders as he directed her out of the elevator.

  ‘This isn’t the Lounge,’ she said.

  ‘No.’

  Whyte opened the door to guide her in to a room, which had rounded walls, and curved floor to ceiling windows that presented a silent view of the glowing city lights, indicating them to be about twenty floors up.

  ‘You had the bar closed too?’

  ‘In a manner of speaking,’ Whyte said.

  Muted cove lighting drew Flick’s attention to a small bar on their right. This wasn’t a commercial bar; at least it wasn’t a public one.

  ‘Where are we?’ she asked.

  The perimeter floor was raised like a flat doughnut. In the lowered round centre were two deep semi-circular couches with a low glass table in the centre.

  ‘This is my personal lounge. What would you like to drink?’

  Whyte took her to the bar, sat her on a leather stool, and then went to the other side.

  ‘I’m not sure—‘

  ‘More champagne?’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘I’d be happy with a mineral water.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ he said and bent to retrieve something from under the bar. ‘I have cranberry vodka, just shipped in, it’s delightful.’

  Flick didn’t know why he bothered to ask if he was going to ignore her answer, but she smiled along.

  ‘This is an incredible room,’ Flick said. ‘You truly are an impressive man.’

  ‘There is more to come,’ he said, pouring the vodka.

  Flick had never really liked vodka, but she took the proffered glass and touched it to Whyte’s. They both sipped. Rather Flick let the liquid reach her lips but not pass them.

  ‘Do you have a stake in the casino next door too?’ she asked, as though just carrying on the conversation from earlier.

  ‘The two buildings were designed and built together by me but the business of the casino belongs to, and is run by, Galante. Do you enjoy gambling? I can arrange to—‘

  A low ringing sound interrupted him, and the ease left Whyte’s person for a second. That glimmer made Flick pause, all night he’d been reasonable and attentive but that expression wasn’t either.

  ‘I apologise, excuse me,’ Whyte said, and moved to a phone by the couch.

  Her aim to eavesdrop was thwarted because the call was over after a couple of brief mumbles. But she certainly got the impression of his annoyance, which was compounded by his action of slamming down the phone.

  Flick could see him trying to re-establish his composure as he came back toward her, but the anger remained in his periphery.

  ‘I apologise,’ he said, taking her hand from her glass. ‘I specifically requested no interruptions tonight.’

  ‘I understand,’ Flick said, fluttering her eyes as she had frequently done through the evening. ‘A man of your standing must be very busy. I’ve taken up plenty of your time already.’

  Flick didn’t want to walk out on the conversation, but she’d be happy to walk out of the situation. The low lighting and complete isolation set her on edge.

  ‘No,’ he said, lifting her hand up to his mouth. ‘I’m enjoying our date. We’ll just have to stomach a minor interruption. A colleague wishes to speak to me with regards to a time-sensitive issue. My security man will bring him up and escort him away. Can you endure a short wait?’

  Again Flick made herself smile and nod, without viable options to do anything else.

  ‘Good.’

  Whyte kissed her hand again, but thankfully there was a knock on the door, removing him from her side. Flick had to contain her urge to wipe away the residue of moisture he’d left on her skin.

  ‘Enter!’ Whyte called out like a high school principal.

  The door opened, and Flick was only paying partial attention to the action because she was trying to locate a sink to pour her drink down.

  One tall broad man dressed in black entered, and when she saw the second man was Marv she sat straighter, now much more interested in proceedings. For a split second anyway, because another man entered at Marv’s back, a man dressed in black too. A man she knew... intimately.

  If Flick was surprised to see her lover here, he didn’t share the sentiment. In fact, those stern black eyes of his were positively evil when they landed on her without a hint of hesitation. Rushe had known she was here, but she was clueless.

  He’d lied to her. Flick had thought him lost and alone, she might have done something stupid in pursuit of him, and all the while he’d been within ten miles of their apartment.

  Forgetting their place, Flick slid off the stool and opened her mouth to reprimand him. But before any words could escape, Rushe switched his view to Whyte and Marv, who were mumbling to each other. That action was enough to remind Flick of where they were.

  Rushe was doing remarkably well to stand there quietly by the door with his cohort flanking the other side. When Rushe’s eyes snapped back to her, Flick bristled, more than happy to match his anger with her own.

  ‘Excuse me, just for a moment,’ Whyte said.

  Without waiting for her response, Whyte nodded to the other security man, and the three vanished into a side room that Flick hadn’t previously noticed. The door clicked shut behind the trio, and Flick drew breath but Rushe got there first.

  ‘At home,’ he threatened through his teeth, in a tone so deep it was only bass, no voice.

  ‘You must be confusing me with someone else,’ she hissed in a whisper. ‘I live alone.’

  The fury in his eyes made Flick physically recoil. Rushe bared his teeth on an inhale and Flick wasn’t sure if she wanted to hide from this man or hump him.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Whyte said, returning to the room with the others. ‘We’re going to have to cut our evening short, Flick, something has come up.’

  ‘That’s not a problem,’ she said, squashing her visceral urge to run. ‘I understand.’

  ‘I’
ll have a hotel driver take you home,’ Whyte said, meeting her mid-way to the door, only a few feet from Rushe.

  Whyte was spared from looking at her lover spitting silent psychic wrath, but Flick witnessed Rushe catalogue every minute movement. His eyes narrowed further when Whyte’s hand touched Flick’s upper arm.

  ‘There’s no need,’ Flick said.

  ‘I insist. If you leave a contact number—‘

  ‘I don’t have a phone,’ Flick said honestly.

  ‘At all? Whatever I’m paying you, it’s obviously not enough.’

  Flick laughed at the joke, but that only irked Rushe further. ‘I’ll be at work on Thursday.’

  ‘I won’t wait that long to make up this inconvenience to you,’ Whyte said. ‘I’ll have someone courier a phone to you in the morning.’

  ‘That’s really not necessary. There is no inconvenience.’

  ‘There certainly has been on my part.’

  ‘It would make me uncomfortable to accept such a gift at this stage.’

  Whyte wasn’t used to this response, and it left an awkward silence in the air. Most probably Whyte wasn’t accustomed to being shown up in front of his men either.

  ‘Very well,’ he said eventually. ‘Then I shall expect you to return. Come to the hotel on Wednesday, same time. I’ll meet you again.’

  Flick couldn’t think of a reason to say no, other than the fact that Rushe knew how to kill a man with his bare hands. But her reason for accepting Whyte’s invitation in the first place remained, and he hadn’t yet filled his purpose, so Flick nodded.

  Rushe already looked set to explode, so when Whyte moved to kiss her cheek Flick stepped out of the way, ensuring to convey that coy nature Whyte expected.

  The security man came toward her, and as she wasn’t sure how long their silence would hold, Flick chose not to look at Rushe again. Her escort took her down to the sidewalk and waited until a car arrived.

  All that occupied her mind on the journey home was Rushe. His lie made her angry, but his presence settled her apprehension. His words in the suite implied that he’d come home. Flick couldn’t have him back a minute too soon.