Page 5 of Sins of a King

I shook my head. We passed by the row of elevators, and I almost asked where we were going when Flynn rounded the corner.

“Private elevator,” he explained.

The elevator was similar in decor to the lobby, but the floor was a plush red brocade carpet instead of white marble. It should’ve been cheesy, but it wasn’t. Instead, it reeked of class and money. Flynn inserted his key and pushed the PH button. He didn’t reach for my hand again, but he stood close enough that his suit jacket brushed my arm.

The doors opened, revealing a vast suite with large glass windows and white walls. The sitting room was complete with a bar and an expensive gray L-shaped couch facing the dark-wood entertainment center, and the kitchen was outfitted with all the newest stainless-steel appliances.

I marveled at the decadence. “Do you live here?”

He nodded, walking toward the bar. Without looking at me, he asked, “Drink?”

“Will I need it?”

“Aye.”

Instead of being afraid of the truth, I was suddenly grateful for Flynn’s candor.

“Scotch.”

I watched a smile flit across his face as he fixed us two glasses of scotch. He stalked toward me like a sleek predator, handing me my drink. We clinked our glasses together.

“Slàinte mhath,” I murmured and took a healthy swallow.

Flynn’s eyes gleamed with something I couldn’t discern. Approval, maybe?

He gestured to the couch, and I took a seat. Flynn sat in the chair that faced me. Leaning forward, he stared into his drink and then finally lifted his gaze to meet mine.

“Your brother has gotten himself into some trouble,” he began.

“What kind of trouble?”

“Three hundred thousand dollars’ worth of trouble.”

I inhaled sharply. “He owes you money?” I guessed.

“Aye.”

“How? Were you in business together?”

“No.”

“Then I don’t understand. How can he owe you so much money?”

“It’s not important.”

“It’s not? It’s not like you guys had a friendly bet on a football game. That is some serious cash.”

He sighed. “Finish your drink.”

“But I don’t want—”

“Finish it,” he commanded, his voice low.

I did as bid, setting the empty glass down on the table. We’d never gotten around to dinner, and a warm ball of liquor resided deep in my belly.

“Your brother made me an offer,” Flynn said. “Your services in lieu of the debt.”

I blinked. “Sorry. The scotch must be doing something to my brain. Services?”