Page 53 of Devious Corruption

“You’re so high and mighty your men can’t ride in an elevator with you?” I tug on my hand again, still unable to find freedom.

“Don’t worry about them.”

“Is that how you treat people who work for you?”

He sighs, and it’s a sound that could break the paneling on the walls if he were standing close enough.

“If you were to be squeezed into the corner of the elevator in order for them to fit, it would be sign of disrespect. They have your bags; they’ll ride with your bags where it’s not going to put you in the corner.”

“Disrespect? It’s not like I’m your wife, or your girlfriend, or someone so important that I can’t move over to make room for them.”

He squeezes my hand. “They make room for you, not the other way around. And in this case, there was no room.”

“Again, that might make sense if I was someone important but—” The sound he makes stills my tongue.

It’s a cross between a groan and a growl, but the message is clear. He’s reaching the end of his patience.

I mean he was shot at because of me, so I suppose I should give him a little grace. But only a little.

The elevator doors open, and we enter a foyer that’s different than the one I came through when I visited him before. Back when there was hope of me dealing with some of this mess on my own.

Though, I wonder now if there was any ever hope of that, or if he had just let me believe it.

“This is the back of the penthouse. I’ll give you a tour in the morning. It’s late; you should get some rest.” He leads me down a short hallway that passes by a kitchen, then a dining room, before turning into a new hallway that leads to a staircase.

“You think I’m going to be able to sleep now?” I laugh as we make our way up the stairs. “First you wake me up from a dead sleep and tell me some creep is watching me from outside my bedroom. And then you make me pack up my life in five minutes.Thenbullets were flying over our heads…”

When we get up the stairs, he brings down another hallway to a set of double doors.

“…I mean, I got hit by flying sidewalk, and you think I’m just going back to sleep?”

“What?” His voice goes hard. You’d think I told him there was nuclear bomb in my backpack.

He spins to face me and grabs my shoulders, inspecting me.

“Where?”

“On my neck. It hurt then, but it’s fine now.”

He grabs my chin, jerking back my head to get a better look.

“You’re bleeding.” He says this as though I’m to blame.

Which, maybe I am since it was probably my brothers who got us into the little shoot-out.

“You said you weren’t hit.”

“It was cement. It’s a little scratch. I’m fine.” I push his hand away, but he’s determined.

“I have a medical kit in the bathroom.” He shoves the double doors open, and they swing into a massive sitting area complete with a flat-screened television hanging on the wall.

It’s all very masculine with sharp edges, dark coloring, and leather upholstery.

“The bathroom is through here.” He walks through the room to another door.

“I don’t think it’s that bad.” I argue, but he’s already gone through the door.

“Maxine.” He calls for me like I’m some little puppy who will come toddling along with a wagging tail.