Chapter 5 5

The air in the Diamond Lounge smelled of cedarwood and aged tobacco. It was a masculine, oppressive scent that instantly triggered a memory in Abbey's hindbrain-Armond's cologne.

Armond didn't stand up. He remained sprawled on the leather, flanked by three other men in suits who were murmuring about market shares. In the far corner, near the window, Abbey saw Sophie. She was sitting on a stool, looking dazed, while a balding man with a red face leaned uncomfortably close to her, whispering in her ear.

Abbey started to lunge toward Sophie, but Miles clamped a hand on her shoulder.

"Easy," Miles whispered. "We have to pay respects first."

He steered her toward Armond. Abbey felt like a doll being dragged by a toddler.

"Armond," Miles said, extending his hand with a practiced, politician's smile. "Thanks for the pass. Appreciate it."

Armond didn't take the hand. He let Miles's hand hang in the air for three agonizing seconds before he finally, lazily, shifted his gaze from Abbey to Miles.

"Sterling," Armond said. His voice was a low baritone that vibrated in Abbey's chest. "You're wet."

"Ah, yeah, the rain," Miles laughed nervously, dropping his hand. He pulled Abbey closer, his fingers digging into her hip through the silk jacket. "This is Abbey. She's... with me."

Armond's eyes snapped back to Abbey. He looked at Miles's hand on her hip. His expression didn't change, but the temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.

"With you," Armond repeated. The words sounded like he was tasting something rotten. "Your taste is... unique."

"She's special," Miles beamed, oblivious to the razor blades in Armond's tone.

"Indeed," Armond said softly. He took a sip of his whiskey, his eyes never leaving Abbey's face. "Very special."

Abbey couldn't breathe. She pulled away from Miles. "I need to get Sophie."

She walked toward the corner. The balding man had his hand on Sophie's knee now.

"Hey!" Abbey said, her voice shaking but loud. "Get away from her."

The man looked up, annoyed. "Excuse me? We're having a conversation."

"She's drunk," Abbey snapped. She grabbed Sophie's arm. "Sophie, stand up."

"Abbey?" Sophie blinked, her eyes unfocused. "Is that you?"

"Who invited the wet dog?" the man sneered, standing up. He blocked Abbey's path. "This girl is on my tab. She goes when I say she goes."

"She's leaving," Miles said, coming up behind Abbey. "She's a friend of mine."

The man squinted at Miles. "Sterling? The kid? Go run to daddy. The adults are playing."

Miles flushed red. He opened his mouth to retort, but he looked unsure, weak.

Abbey saw the man reach for Sophie again. Pure, white-hot rage flared in her chest. She grabbed a heavy crystal ice bucket from the table.

"Touch her again," Abbey warned, lifting the bucket, "and I will break this over your head."

The man laughed. "You wouldn't da-"

CRASH.

The sound of shattering glass exploded through the room. But it wasn't the ice bucket.

Everyone froze.

Armond had thrown his whiskey glass against the wall. The shards glittered on the carpet.

He stood up. He unfolded his height slowly, towering over everyone in the room. He adjusted his cuffs, his face a mask of bored lethargy, but his eyes were burning.

He walked toward them. The crowd parted instantly. The balding man took a step back, his arrogance evaporating.

Armond stopped in front of the man. He didn't shout. He didn't posture. He just looked down at him.

"Get out," Armond said.

"Mr. Woodward, I was just-"

"I said get out," Armond interrupted. "And take your trash with you. If I see you in one of my properties again, I'll have security break your legs before they ban you."

The man turned pale. He grabbed his jacket and scrambled toward the elevator without a backward glance.

Armond turned to Abbey.

For a moment, she thought he was going to yell at her. Instead, he reached out and plucked the ice bucket from her hands. He set it down on the table with a gentle clink.

"Violence, Rose?" he murmured, using the name only he knew, a private joke from a Parisian summer about the blush on her cheeks. "That's new."

"Don't call me that," Abbey whispered.

"Armond, man, thanks," Miles interjected, stepping between them again. "I owe you one."

Armond ignored Miles completely. He snapped his fingers. Two massive bodyguards materialized from the shadows.

"Take Miss..." He gestured to Sophie. "Take her to Lenox Hill. Private room. Make sure she's hydrated and safe."

"I'll take her," Abbey said.

"No," Armond said. He took a step closer to her, invading her personal space. He smelled of whiskey and power. "You're staying."

"I'm leaving with Miles," Abbey said, though her voice lacked conviction.

Armond leaned down. His lips brushed her ear. The intimacy of the gesture made her knees buckle.

"Do you really want to owe him for tonight?" Armond whispered. "Or would you rather owe me?"

Abbey looked at Miles, who was checking his reflection in the window. Then she looked at Armond.

It wasn't a choice. It was a trap.