Page 22 of The Billionaires' Gamble

It only takes an instant to catalog all the important details.

Other than the hostess, we’re the only ones in the lobby area. Katherine’s face is etched with confusion, fear, and fury. Roman’s ready for whatever happens next and is moving my woman out of harm’s way.

Which leaves the other guy.

He glances up.

Tyler.

Other than the mask of pain and the way he’s favoring his right foot, he’s the picture of the cosmopolitan man. Sharp suit, fresh haircut, a touch of a tan to his skin.

“I just wanted to talk,” he says, discomfort lacing each word.

“Are you okay?” I check in with Katherine.

She rakes her fingers through her hair, and those lovely eyes connect with mine. A momentary peace settles in my chest, and I can breathe again. “I’m fine.”

“So let’s talk,” I say, turning back to Tyler.

The other man objects with a flurry of sound but no intelligent words. I grab him by the back of the neck and haul him up straight. He tenses in my grasp, and I feel the turmoil in him. He wants to struggle, but he also doesn’t want to appear weak.

I shoot a quick glance back at Katherine and Roman. “See that she gets home safely.”

He nods, already escorting her onto the elevator. As soon as the double doors whoosh closed behind them, I offer the wide-eyed hostess a tight smile.

“We’re personal security. Nothing to worry about.”

I shove the stairwell door open and thrust Tyler through. As expected, he thrashes in my grasp and tries to reason with me, but I cut him off.

“Did you put your hand on her again?”

“I just want to talk to her.”

“She’s not interested in talking to you. I thought she made that perfectly clear. And I made it clear what would happen if you bothered her again.” I cut a look toward the harsh concrete and metal stairs below. This fall probably wouldn’t kill him, but I’d smile at his pain.

“You did!” His voice is loud, almost a shout.

“Let’s go.” I grip his neck tighter, disavowing him of the notion that he could get away. I’ve got half a foot and about fifty pounds on him.

His left elbow jerks back, aimed at my ribs, but I grab his wrist and twist his arm behind his back, giving me complete control.

“Look—”

“I am looking. I’m looking at a spoiled prick who won’t take no for an answer.” I march him down to the next landing. He struggles the whole way.

“I just needed to talk to her.”

“She doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“She doesn’t need to talk. Just listen. It’s about her mother.”

Curiosity prickles. I shove him against the wall, and he cries out.

“My nose!”

“That’s going to be the least of your concerns. Start talking.”

There’s a pause, and he stills, then sighs. He glances at me from the corner of his eye, and when I don’t loosen my hold, he gives a begrudging, “Fine.”