Chapter 55 A Hostile Host
EMILY
"It’s tinted glass. He can’t see you."
It takes me a few seconds to realize that Silas may be looking in my direction but he can’t see me through the glass.
I remind myself to breathe and that I’m not scared of him. Even if he sees me, what exactly can he do? I’m surrounded by a convoy of armed trained men and I’m not helpless on my own. There’s nothing Silas Hunt can do to me.
I relax into the chair, take a deep breath, and continue to watch what’s going on.
As soon as Dr. Aris disappears out of sight, Silas Hunt runs his fingers through his hair and looks around at the bystanders.
"What are you looking at! Huh!"
Some people flinch and others just have confused looks on their faces.
Silas yells and shouts a string of foul curses across the concrete sidewalk, his voice bouncing aggressively off the sleek glass facade of the Etland Building.
He approaches a group of onlookers in business attire and they scatter immediately. They clutch their briefcases and coffee cups, hurrying away from the erratic gang leader without daring to say a single word.
I step out of the car after a few minutes and walk to a smooth marble support pillar near the main entrance. Leo stands right beside me. His massive, tailored shoulders completely block us from Silas’s line of sight.
I can’t wait in the car forever and Silas doesn’t seem like he would be done with his tantrum anytime soon. I can’t keep the doctor waiting any longer.
"Is there another set of doors?" I ask, keeping my voice quiet.
Leo checks his dark wristwatch. "The east entrance is around the corner. It has a direct sightseeing elevator to the top floor."
I nod and gesture to two of the armored bodyguards standing nearby. "Stay here. Keep an eye on Silas. Do not engage unless he tries to enter the building. I want you to get as close as you can and listen to his rants. Underneath the curses and insults, if you catch anything of importance, you need to let me know."
They nod and I sneak a peek at where Silas is still making a scene. I need to find out exactly what business a street thug has with a renowned medical dean.
Leo and I walk quickly around the perimeter of the skyscraper. The east entrance is a quiet, pristine lobby devoid of any chaotic foot traffic. A polished glass elevator waits with open doors. We step inside, and the cab shoots upward instantly.
The sprawling city drops away beneath our feet. The bustling streets turn into a tiny, silent grid of gray concrete and crawling yellow taxis. I look down at my plain denim jacket, simple shirt, and scuffed boots. My outfit is completely out of place for a lunch meeting at the most exclusive restaurant in the financial district. But I do not care about high-society dress codes. I never have. Dressing out of my comfort zone just so I could look like I belong in a room of elites is not something I want to do. Especially after I know how nasty these elites can really be.
My entire focus rests on the licensing agreement for my cardiology formula. Getting Dr. Aris to sign those papers is the only way I can secure a future for my baby. I desperately need my own financial leverage. I refuse to rely completely on Alistair Wolfe’s wealth, and I will never let the Vance family control my life again. I must stand on my own two feet.
The elevator chimes softly as we reach the 101st floor. The glass doors slide open, revealing the grand foyer of Bordeaux 101.
The air smells strongly of expensive truffles, roasted garlic, and aged red wine. Dark mahogany paneling covers the walls, accented by gleaming gold light fixtures. A tall reception desk carved from solid black marble sits directly in front of us.
A young waitress stands behind the desk, holding a leather-bound reservation book. Her uniform is perfectly tailored, and her dark hair is pulled back into a flawless, tight bun. She looks up as we approach. Her polite, professional smile vanishes the absolute second her eyes scan my inexpensive clothes and bare wrists. She notes my lack of designer jewelry and dismisses me entirely. Honestly, I don’t know who is worse. The snubby elites or the middle-class people who only respect the snubby elites.
"May I help you?" she asks. Her tone is flat, bored, and entirely perfunctory. She sounds like she’s talking to a delivery driver.
"I have a lunch reservation," I say smoothly.
The waitress raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow. "Name?"
"It should be under Dr. Aris," I reply.
"Dr. Aris?" She looks at me again from head to toe. "Just because you have a name doesn’t mean I can just let you in."
"I can give you his phone number to verify," I say calmly, trying not to get annoyed.
I recite the digits clearly. Because of how many times Chloe ’accidentally’ broke my phone when we were younger, I had a habit of memorizing important numbers. She taps a long, polished fingernail against the screen of her tablet. She does not even pretend to look closely.
"I do not see any reservation matching that information," the waitress says. She waves her hand toward the elevator. "Please step aside."
I pull my phone from my pocket and dial Dr. Aris. The line rings four times before rolling to an automated voicemail. I end the call and try again.
The waitress sighs loudly, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "Miss, we run a very tight schedule here. You are loitering."
Before I can respond, the glass elevator chimes again. Three well-dressed guests step into the foyer. Two men in expensive gray suits walk alongside a woman draped in a heavy, cream-colored silk shawl. The overwhelming scent of strong floral perfume fills the small space. The woman wears a thick diamond necklace that catches the gold lighting above us.
The waitress instantly transforms. Her posture straightens, and a bright, welcoming smile stretches across her face.
"Welcome back, Mr. Sterling," the waitress says enthusiastically. She turns her head and glares at me. She raises her voice, ensuring everyone in the lobby hears her. "Miss, you need to leave right now. You are blocking the entrance for our actual patrons."
The woman in the silk shawl stops walking. She looks me up and down, her nose wrinkling in disgust. She turns to her companions and lets out a sharp, mocking laugh.
"Did the kitchen staff start using the guest elevators?" the woman asks loudly.
One of the men chuckles. "Perhaps she is a lost delivery girl. Let us just step around the riffraff, darling."
Leo reacts instantly.
He steps squarely in front of me. His heavy tactical boots plant firmly onto the plush carpet. His broad chest expands as he takes a deep breath. His jaw clenches so tight the faint scar near his ear turns completely white. He raises his large right hand, preparing to physically remove the wealthy guests from my personal space.
I reach out quickly and grab Leo’s forearm. His muscles feel like solid iron under his suit sleeve.
"Leo, stop," I say, keeping my voice completely calm and level.
He looks down at me, his eyes full of protective anger.
"If a dog bites you, do you bite the dog back?" I ask him.
The wealthy woman gasps in outrage. The two men freeze in their tracks. The waitress stares at me with her mouth hanging wide open.
Leo lets out a quiet, rough breath. His rigid posture relaxes slightly. He lowers his hand and steps back into his defensive position beside me. He gives me a clear nod of deep respect, silently admiring my mental fortitude. I do not need to scream or throw a tantrum to defend my dignity.
My phone vibrates in my palm. The screen displays Dr. Aris’s name.
"Emily, my sincere apologies," Dr. Aris says the moment I answer. "I left my device resting on the sink in the restroom. I know exactly how strict the front desk operates up there. I am walking out to get you right now."
"I am right by the elevators," I reply.
I lower the phone and slide it into my pocket. The waitress watches me closely. She crosses her arms over her chest, clearly doubting that anyone important is coming to fetch me.
Two minutes pass in tense silence. A set of heavy wooden double doors swings open at the end of the foyer. Dr. Aris steps out into the lobby. He looks distinguished and commanding in his perfectly fitted suit.
The waitress abandons her hostile glare immediately. She bows her head slightly, rushing forward to greet him.
"Dr. Aris, it is a wonderful pleasure to see you today," the waitress says, fawning over him. "How may we assist you?"
Dr. Aris ignores her completely. He looks around the lobby, his eyes scanning the waiting guests. He spots me and smiles warmly.
"I am just coming out to pick up a friend," Dr. Aris says. He points a finger directly at me. "There she is."
The waitress freezes in place. She stares at Dr. Aris, then slowly turns her head to look at me. Her polite smile crumbles. She looks at the significant age difference between the wealthy, established doctor and myself. She looks at my inexpensive denim jacket and my lack of designer labels. A dark, cynical assumption settles into her eyes. She clearly assumes I am nothing more than a young mistress meeting an older, wealthy benefactor for a lavish lunch.
Before the waitress can open her mouth to make another snide comment, a resonant, commanding male voice echoes from the hallway behind her.
"She is not his mistress."
The voice is sharp and carries an absolute, undeniable authority.
"She is someone you cannot afford to offend."