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I stared at him. “He’s going to take pictures of your clientele. Remove him.”
“None of my business how a man puts food on his table.”
“Ye know Princess Alexandra is over there?”
He folded his arms, confirmation that he’d clocked her yet didn’t care.
For fuck’s sake. “If ye don’t remove him, I will.”
The bouncer stood taller, his lip curled in obvious annoyance. “Start any fights, and it’s you who’ll be thrown out, whoever the fuck you think you are.”
I glowered, but the man’s position was clear. He wasn’t going to help. He might even stand in my way, judging by how he’d defended the wrong person. Perhaps it was an accepted part of this club’s scene, he’d been paid off, or maybe it was just the target in question who he didn’t care to defend.
Throughout the conversation, I’d kept Malcolm in my eyeline. A drink had appeared on the table in front of him, but he hadn’t moved, which meant he was waiting for the right moment to strike. For the princess to fall over or maybe be alone. If I took him on and failed, and the bouncer was good to his word, I’d be on the outside and unable to intervene.
Which left me one solution in my rapid risk assessment and strategy planning—to persuade her to leave with me.
My issues were that we weren’t exactly friends, I wasn’t supposed to be here, and most likely she’d laugh in my face if I made demands.
In the middle of the VIP dance floor, she whirled around, beautiful, chaotic, and with clumsy movements. My stomach sank. It was history repeating itself. Me trying to protect her, and with every chance this was going to go badly. Yet I couldn’t walk away.
I brought out my phone and booked a taxi to pick us up outside in a few minutes.
“Is there another set of steps leading away from here?” I asked the bouncer.
He grouched out that there wasn’t and turned to a pair of women approaching.
With him distracted, I went on to stage two.
I made my way along the edge of the booths and up to Malcolm’s. With a clumsy swipe, I neatly knocked his drink into his lap.
“Fucking shit.” He leapt up, snatching his camera out of the way.
I kept my head down. I didn’t expect him to have paid as much attention to me as I had him earlier but couldn’t be sure. “Sorry,” I slurred as if drunk.
Malcolm brushed down his sodden trousers, swore again, and made for the bathroom.
I had minutes to cinch the deal.
Chapter 6
Alexandra
Dori stilled at my side. With my eyes closed, I heard rather than saw the reason.
“I’m Raphael Gordonson, Alex’s bodyguard. You’re her boyfriend, aye? I need your help.”
Dori choked. “Did you just call her Alex?”
“He does that,” I slurred and cracked open an eye.
Raphael really was here. Tall, and dark, and stupidly handsome. My head swam. I missed what he said next.
Dori’s voice pierced my consciousness. “Darling girl, stop sleeping on me. The bodyguard says there’s a photographer.”
I flushed cold. I hadn’t been paranoid with the exchange I’d witnessed. “Where?”
Raphael answered. “He’s been watching from a booth. Same guy as from the art gallery.”