He attacked again in the private elevator to the penthouse floor.
I let him kiss me – let isn’t the right word, exactly; blissfully gave in is closer – but pushed him away when the elevator bell dinged.
“I feel disgusting,” I moaned. “I have to go take a shower. Immediately.”
“Soon as we walk through the door, we’ll head on in,” he said as he took me by the hand and led me down the corridor.
“‘We’?” I asked, trying to be as coy as possible.
“You don’t think I’m going to let you hog it all, do you?”
“Oh, is that all it’s about.”
“Mmmm… that’s part of it.” He stopped me halfway to the penthouse door and pushed my back up against the wall.
My heart quickened as he leaned over and paused seductively just a few inches from my lips.
“What else?” I murmured as I lifted my chin, getting closer to those amazing, oh-so-kissable lips.
“If I’m going to be starting a solar energy company that’ll revolutionize the world…”
He paused as he stared me in the eyes.
“…I should probably conserve water, too.”
“UH!” I yelled, and pushed him away as he laughed. “You want to save water, take a two-minute shower alone!”
He pinched my bottom and I yelped.
Memo to self: get underwear back. As far as I knew, it was still in his pants pocket.
Then I slapped his hand away.
“Ohhhh no, you ain’t gettin’ none o’ that!” I said in my best oh no you di-int! voice.
“I think I will,” he grinned as he followed me.
“Dream on, Mr. ‘Let’s Conserve Water.’”
He caught me again right in front of the door and spun me around. I fought him (not really), but his strong arms circled around my waist, pulled me against his body, and then he pressed his lips against mine.
I struggled for about two seconds – and then sank into the kiss.
I swear, it had to have been the pheromones. Sweaty or not, he smelled irresistible.
After about ten seconds, he broke it off and pulled out a keycard, then inserted it in the slot. “We’ll go in and take a shower… together… right after I finish getting reamed out by Johnny for ditching him again.”
Oh crap, that’s right.
In the crazy afternoon smorgasbord of sex – phone, car, and outdoors – I’d totally forgotten.
My stomach did a sick little flip-flop as I anticipated the angry reception waiting for us.
Connor swung open the door to the penthouse –
Speak of the devil.
Connor’s bodyguard was standing right in front of us, staring us down, before we took a single step inside. He was dressed in his customary dark suit, but without his sunglasses, so we could get the full impact of his scowl.
“Although I didn’t expect him to be waiting at the door for me,” Connor said, as though to an invisible audience. Then he pointed at me. “It’s all her fault.”
“My fault!” I cried out, turning to him. “I didn’t – ”
“Connor,” Johnny said in a strangled voice.
I turned back to Johnny and realized I’d misinterpreted his expression.
I’d thought he was angry – with us. With me.
Instead… he looked worried.
Really worried.
“What is it?” Connor asked, suddenly concerned.
“I’m sorry… I tried to get him out, but…”
Johnny trailed off without finishing the sentence.
I had a bad, bad flashback to The Empire Strikes Back, right before Lando Calrissian betrays Han and Leia to Darth Vader.
(Yes, I’m a nerd.)
Someone walked into view on the other side of the room. A man, very tall and very imposing, wearing a black business suit and a dark blue tie. He was older, probably in his late 50’s or early 60’s, but his broad shoulders and solid chest made him look powerful enough to take on someone half his age. Though his silver hair was receding up his forehead, he was still incredibly handsome, with a chiseled jaw, strong nose, and cruel lips.
In fact… he looked unsettlingly familiar.
“Hello, Connor,” he said in a dark bass voice.
I looked up at Connor, who gave a little smartass smirk, like Great. Just great.
“Hello… Dad.”
31
About 17 different things were going through my mind at this point.
First and foremost was one word:
Crap.
Crap, crap, crap, crap, Crap, CRAP, CRAP.
‘Meeting The Parents’ is stressful under the best of situations.
It’s even worse when you’re standing there sweaty and rumpled after just having had kinky sex with their son.
Oh, and you’re not wearing any panties, either.
Yeah. So. Not at my best at that particular moment.
Second thing:
This is Connor’s father?!
This is the guy who cheated a nine-year-old at Monopoly?!
I peered even more closely at him.
If you are a huge nerd like me – or even if you’re not – perhaps you’ve watched Game Of Thrones. If so, then you know who Tywin Lannister is. He’s the badass, grim, ‘totally lacking in empathy and the milk of human kindness’ patriarch of the Lannister clan. He is played by Charles Dance, who has a gravelly voice, dangerous eyes, stands about 6’ 3”, and is one of the sexiest men on the planet over age 60.
This guy looked a lot like Charles Dance. Sounded a bit like him, too, without the British accent.
I usually like guys my own age – well, give or take six years in Connor’s case – and am not attracted to older men. Except in a few, very specific cases.
Go to Youtube and search for ‘Charles Dance 50 Shades Of Grey.’ Go on. I’ll wait.
Still waiting.
Seen it? Yes, it’s a hilarious clip, especially when he’s doing Anastasia’s voice. But when he does Christian’s?
‘Yeah… that’s what I thought.’
Daaaaaaaamn.
And the fact that this was what Connor would most probably look like in 30 years?
Not bad. Not bad at all.
But there was a problem.
Like Tywin Lannister and the other villains Dance has played, this guy embodied the worst possible qualities:
The arrogance.
The coldness.
The total lack of empathy and kindness.
He looked exactly like someone who would crush his kid’s dreams to teach him some sort of effed up lesson about ‘the real world.’
And then would go to work and destroy real people and real lives to add another $100 million to his bank account.
He dressed just as expensively as Connor did, if a bit more conservatively. And he exuded wealth, privilege, and power.
It was like a king or an old-time lord had walked into the room… and not a particularly nice one.
Just like Game Of Thrones.
He was tall as Connor – maybe even a hair taller. His eyes were the same piercing blue. And he had the same powerful build.
But he had none of Connor’s warmth. None of the mischievous charm.
Just cold, grim power.
Third thing:
Connor had greeted him like somebody seeing their deadbeat dad for the first time in months… but who had been expecting him to show up. No real surprise in his voice. Just irritation and a bit of fatalism, wrapped up in Connor’s smartass humor.
Fourth thing:
I noticed for the first time that there were other people in the room. Like, a lot of them.
Well… compared to normal.
Four tall, powerfully-built men in suits and sunglasses stood guard over the four corners of the room. They were silent and stone-faced, their hands folded behind them. They looked for all the world like Secret Service agents standing at attention.
Connor’s dad had apparently decided to err on the side of caution after Mexico.
I could see why Johnny hadn’t been able to clear the room before we arrived – though I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why he’d let them in in the first place.
But that question, along with a bunch of others, got answered in short order.
32
Connor strolled past me, completely at ease, as though finding his father and a bunch of hired goons occupying his hotel room was just another day at the office.
I snuck in behind him, trying to stay as inconspicuous as possible as I smoothed down my dress. Johnny closed the door behind me.
Connor stopped about ten feet away from his father. The lack of a handshake or a hug was glaringly obvious – at least to me.
“I’d ask what you’re doing here, but I’m pretty sure I know the answer.”
“I would wager you do,” the older man said.
“So I’ll just ask the obvious question: what are you doing here?” Connor asked as he pointed at the floor. Then he looked back at Johnny. “I thought I paid you to keep out the riffraff.”
“Don’t be too hard on Mr. Inaba,” Connor’s father said drily. “The management was kind enough to let me in before he arrived.”
I looked around at Johnny.
He grimaced in pain, as though his professional pride had been bruised.
“I’ll have to speak to them about that,” Connor said.
“Don’t bother. I’m better friends with the owner than you are. I was expecting you back about an hour ago, but…”
Here Mr. Templeton tilted his head slightly to look around Connor – at me.
The disdain on his features was subtle, but brutal nonetheless.
“…apparently you got delayed.”
I could’ve sworn he put an extra emphasis on the last syllable… like de-laid.