The Interview

“Well, that seemed to go well.”

I give Heather no more than a cursory glance as she places her glass down before taking the seat Mimi recently vacated. “You think?”

“Sarcasm, Leif. I know you live your life on a different cosmic plain to the rest of us up there on billionaire row, but you remember sarcasm, don’t you?” When I don’t answer, she adds, “I would hate to think you’d dragged me out to watch you sit and wallow after Mimi served you a slice of angry scowl and pointed finger.”

“I’m not wallowing.” I’m watching, staring at Mimi on the floor below. Her arms rest on the railing running around the dance floor, her body bent forward to reveal a slash in the fabric of her dress. She’s not flashing a lot of skin, yet my gut twists with the desire to slide my fingers there. To press my hands to the sinuous curve of her hips, to feel the softness of skin not ordinarily revealed. No, I’m not wallowing. I don’t actually know what the fuck I’m doing.

“Looks like wallowing to me.”

“I’m observing.”

“Well, observe how I’ve occupied our manwhore of a brother, leaving the path wide open for someone else. Someone else, say, like you, she says with a careless flutter of her fingers.

“That’s not why I brought you here.”

“Isn’t it? Come on, Leif. I know you didn’t ask me to come with you tonight because you were worried about our brother defiling your PA, sacred soul that she is, disrupting your office Zen. You asked me to come along because you have feelings for Mimi yourself.”

“I didn’t say that, either. I thought you went for drinks?”

She reaches for her glass. “Your drink will be along when El has stopped flirting with the server. And you didn’t need to say. I do have eyes in my head. They work perfectly fine, you know.”

“I might be worse than El. Worse for her, at least.”

“If you are, you hide it well. For a start, you don’t kiss and broadcast it. You’re not delusional, either. You don’t bang on about how you’re God’s gift to women.”

“El’s okay. He’s just young.”

“He’s not that young,” she replies with a snort. “And he’s older than me.”

“Yes, but you and me were born with old heads on our shoulders.”

“I think the word you’re looking for is sensible. Well, I’m sensible. You’re a bit more reckless, but I think that comes with the penis-owning thing.”

“I’m not reckless.” Just ask Mimi, I almost say. If I was, I wouldn’t be sitting here, watching the sharks circle as she hovers at the edge of the dance floor downstairs. Neither of us would be here. We’d be in my bed, and I’d have my head glued between her legs.

“No, you’re right. You’re not reckless. You take calculated risks, I think. You work the numbers. You like to know what’s at the end of a play.”

Something in Heather’s assumption tugs at my attention, her words morphing into Mimi’s.

It was the most sensual moment of my life.

I want the full experience.

I’m only here for six months.

The last isn’t a thread that tugs but yanks forcibly. I promised my best friend I’d make sure she wouldn’t end up with a man like me. And she won’t. Not if she’s only here for six months. I can protect her, can’t I? Ensure she’s not trawling bars and nightclubs, picking up the wrong kind of man. I could make it so she has the best experience with none of the upset.

“Can I go home now?” Heather asks, draining her glass. “It looks like you’ve just come to a decision. I assume that means my work here is done.” She puts down her glass and pulls her phone from her purse.

No. Well, yes, I suppose. Jesus Christ, what am I thinking? Connor must be spinning in his grave because fucking Mimi for six months is not an act of service. It’s one of pure selfishness. But short of wrangling her into a chastity belt, she’s going to do what she wants.

And what, or who, she wants to do is—

I cut off the thought the same way Connor would cut off my dick.

“Whit?”

“Yeah. Yes, of course you can leave. Thanks for coming.” Not that I’ve achieved what I set out to do. If anything, I’ve made things worse. “Is it okay if George takes you home?” George is the company chauffeur, not my personal one. Mainly because I prefer to drive myself around. He parked outside, probably getting paid triple time for napping. “If El is otherwise engaged,” I add, making a futile gesture with my hand.

“You didn’t drag me here just to use me as an excuse to leave with your tail between your legs,” Heather murmurs, examining her phone screen.

“You don’t understand. I just don’t want to leave her here alone.”

“Oh, but I do understand.” Heather pushes to her feet abruptly and, rounding the table, gives my shoulder a brief squeeze. “I feel like bashing your heads together. You live your life at full tilt, and according to Mum, Mimi has had a pretty hard time since her brother died. You’d probably be really good for each other.”

“That’s nice of you to say, Heath, but—”

“You’re a big boy, Whit. You’ve always done what you think is right, even when it’s to the detriment of yourself. But this is where I leave you because my lovely husband whose guts I once hated, incidentally, is waiting in the car outside. Once upon a time, if Archer had been on fire, I wouldn’t have parted with my pee to douse him. And now he’s the center of my universe. Life is funny like that, Whit. You can think you know yourself, know what’s best for you. You can plan and hypothesize, minimize all the risks, but at the end of the day, life has a plan all of its own.”

“That’s not what this is,” I reply with a weary shake of my head. Her hand tightens briefly before I feel the loss of it as she pulls away.

“I’ll have to bash some sense into you another day because the love of my life is parked on double yellows.”

Despite her protests, I escort Heather out of the VIP area and down to the lower floor. At the exit, she gives me a hug, which is both uncharacteristic and a bit worrying.

Am I such a sad sack?

Turning back to the dance floor, I make my way through the throng of people whose lives appear much less complicated as they laugh and drink, and deliver drunken pickup lines over the ear-splittingly loud music.

I must be getting old, I think as I dodge a dropped glass, then a drunken, unsolicited kiss, but when I find myself at the last place I’d spotted Mimi, she’s nowhere to be seen. I glance up at the floor above, but there’s no one at our table. So where the fuck has she gone?

“Nice handbag,” some joker yells, making me look down at the sparkly square my fingers tighten on. Mimi left her purse on the table when she’d stormed off. She can’t very well have gone far without it.

I swing around, my gut twisted in a tight knot. She’s about as far from flighty as Heather is, and it’s not like she has a drink to spike. Or money to buy one. She’s probably just dancing, I tell myself, as I cast a glance over the writhing bodies on the vast dance floor. It’s like a scene from hell, the knot in my stomach joined by another between my shoulder blades.

“Want to buy me a drink, gorgeous?”

“Not particularly,” I mutter, untangling some nameless woman’s arms and ignoring her pout. I swing away. This place is a fucking meat market.

If not you and not El…

Her words drift through my head. No. I don’t for one minute think Mimi is—

Someone in front of me moves one way, the person in front of them another, and I see her through the crowd. See the back of her head, at least, the light catching her blond ponytail. There’s a man in front of her. He towers over her, all smiles and slick hair.

No. Whatever that is, it’s not happening. No and fuck no, I decide, beginning to push my way through the crowd, ignoring the complaints of those between me and her. My chest expands, my heart seeming to salsa somewhere inside it. It doesn’t matter if she’s trying to make me jealous because we’ve gone way past that.

The closer I get, the more the arsehole looks like the poster boy for steroid abuse. A pounding starts at my left temple as he puts a hand the size of a shovel on her shoulder. I’m not small, but fuck me, he is huge. A strobe light passes over the pair, making it hard to tell if he moved his hand or if Mimi moved her shoulder, not that it matters because I’ll snap his hand off if he touches her again. I don’t care if he’s built like a brick shit house—his dick could be dipped in chocolate, and it’s still not happening. She’s leaving with no one else but me tonight, even if that means I have to chuck her over my shoulder and drag her kicking and screaming from the place.

Connor, my friend, better me than him, surely, I think, the moment before, thanks to a dip in the music, I hear:

“… not interested!” Her irritation is clear. “Don’t touch me!” she demands as her shoulder jerks out of his reach again. In three steps, I’m by her side, and I realize the prick is holding her wrist. “Get off.” Her voice shrill with distress.

Something inside me snaps. I don’t see red. I see black as a veil descends over me.

“Sweetheart.” I press a kiss to her temple as I give her shoulder a light, reassuring squeeze. She slants me a narrowed glance, which could be Mimi speak for took you long enough. In the time it takes for this exchange, I’ve slid her sparkly clutch into my jacket pocket and wrapped my fingers around her arm, just above his.

“The lady isn’t interested.” I turn to the prick, whose biceps are so big, he probably has difficulty taking a piss.

“Fuck off,” comes his less-than-eloquent reply. If anything, his fingers tighten. Mimi tries to yank her arm away, but I still her, curling my fingers over hers.

“Have it your way,” I mutter. Tightening my grip on Mimi, I hook my leg behind his, unbalancing his footing just enough to make him stumble. Which isn’t really the point of the exercise. I just need him to turn a little so I can…

Thwack

I punch him in the kidney. I get him a good one too, judging by the strangled groan he makes as he drops to all fours.

“Come on.” I twist my hand from Mimi’s wrist to her fingers, tugging her along as I move briskly away.

“What was that?” she yells near my ear.

“A bit of MMA,” I answer over my shoulder, mainly to see if the dick is back on his feet. It won’t do to hang around.

“Em em what?”

“Mixed martial arts. Let’s not hang about, eh?” He might be pissing blood, or he might just be really pissed.

“Oh. Yeah, right.”

“Don’t look behind you,” I say, wrapping my arm around her back as I pull her into my side. “And don’t look guilty.”

“What? Are we going to get in trouble?”

“Nightclub owners aren’t keen on their patrons fighting, no matter which side of the velvet rope they’ve paid to be on. More importantly,” I add, pulling her closer, “VirTu could do without the publicity.”

We get almost as far as the door when a hand on my shoulder yanks my hand from Mimi’s. Without saying a word, the slightly green-looking arsehole catches me with a right hook. I twist from the majority of the impact, though I’m conscious of Mimi’s shrill scream. My instinct is to protect her as I barrel into him, getting my hands around his waist to slam my knee between his legs. There’s no such thing as dirty fighting; ask any one of my brothers. There’s only winning and making sure you’ve still got a pretty nose at the end of it. But we don’t get that far as security piles onto us, landing a few indiscriminate punches before pulling us apart. Mimi yells about how she was attacked, pointing a finger at the now raging bull of a man as he’s restrained by the bouncers. He doesn’t do himself any favors as he spews a mouth full of obscenities.

“This place is a fucking joke,” I begin, ranting over the top of him. “What the hell are you doing to protect your clientele? I’ll have my legal team on this come Monday morning.”

“I thought you didn’t want any attention,” Mimi mutters, pulling on my arms.

“Smoke and mirrors, sweetheart.” Pulling her close, I press my lips to her ear. “Play along.”

“That man attacked me,” she says, bursting into an impressive bout of fake hysterics. “I want to go home!” It isn’t long before we’re escorted to the door rather than ejected, which I assume will be what happens to the arsehole. But hopefully not right now.

“Let me look at your lip.”

I instinctively twist away as she reaches out. “I’ve had worse,” I say, taking her hand instead. “What were you doing with him, anyway?” Her brows flicker briefly with confusion. “The meathead,” I elaborate.

“Excuse me?” Not so confused now, darling.

“Was he part of your full experience?” I don’t mean for the words to come out cold and derisive. Or fuck it, maybe I do. First El and now that twat. “Maybe you were planning to take him back to your aunt’s house for a cozy fuck.”

“Screw you!”

“Oh, but you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” I growl, stepping closer.

“Yeah, well, at least one of us can be truthful,” she parries.

“You deserve better. Don’t you get that? Better than him,” I say, throwing out an arm. “Better than me! Don’t let anyone make you feel like second best, Amelia. Don’t you fucking dare!”

“You haven’t…”

“Haven’t I?” One hand on my hip, I rake the other through my hair. What the fuck am I doing out here, yelling in the street, my head fit to explode? “I haven’t treated you like I should have,” I mutter, making a v of my hand over my chin.

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“The fuckin supply cupboard!” I yell.

“You want me to be angry because you left?”

“You should be angry. You should be telling me to go fuck myself.”

She pulls a face and mutters, “I’m getting close. Your sister needed you, Whit. It’s not like you left me to make my way home with my ass hanging out. What do you want me to say? Do you want me to soothe your feelings, your little peccadillos? Tell you that you’re a good man? A good brother? There, I said it. Do you feel better now?”

“No,” I say, taking a predatory step closer. “My peccadillos aren’t small.” A flash of mockery sounds in my head. Better to convince her. “I don’t feel very good about any of this.” She startles a little, inhaling a gasp as she steps back. “Maybe you should ask my sisters what kind of brother I am.”

“I know what they’d say. You’re a good one. Dependable and… and considerate.” I take another step. Mimi takes another back.

“Yes, a good brother. Like the time Primrose fell off her bike. She bumped her head.”

“I’m beginning to wonder if she wasn’t the only one.”

“I picked her up and kissed her knee better. Is there anywhere you’d like me to kiss you better, Amelia?”

She gives her head a tiny shake as though doubting her own ears.

“You’re thinking about it.” I huff an unhappy chuckle. “And God knows you’re not the only one. I would drown myself in you, Amelia. Gorge on you until only your sighs remain.”

“Are you trying to frighten me or turn me on?”

“That’s just the thing. I’m not sure anymore. I’ve tried being brotherly. I’ve tried being a pain. I’ve even tried being considerate, tried to do the right thing, but you thwart me at every turn.” I know these sound like complaints, but they’re actually more like compliments. She knows it, too, as her lips tip upward.

“I don’t think I’ve ever thwarted anyone in my life.”

I reach out, wrapping my fingers around her elbow. “I can only think you haven’t been paying enough attention. Saved by the Bentley,” I add as the company’s SUV pulls quietly up to the curb. I suppose George must’ve spotted us from where he was parked.

“Maybe I don’t want to be saved,” she says softly.

“And maybe I don’t want to fuck you in a cold back lane,” I lie.

I ignore her shock as the car pulls up, and the driver’s door closes with a heavy thunk as he slips out.

“Hello, George.” Mimi’s expression reflects surprise as he opens the rear passenger door. “You’re working late tonight.”

“Overtime.” I glance over my shoulder just in time to see him shoot her the kind of wink that would earn a younger man a punch to the ribs.

“Gotta make hay when the sun—moon—shines.” Adjusting my hold on her arm, I turn her toward the rear of the car.

“Gov’nor,” George says with a decisive nod as Mimi slides inside. “Looks like someone got you a good one,” he says, tapping his jaw.

“You should see the other guy.” Mimi ducks in the seat, her flushed expression appearing at the other door. “The man was huge, and Whit—”

“Narrowly avoided extensive dental work.”

“You look like you came out on the right side of it,” he says, moving around the car with the kind of quick march that reveals his military history. He doesn’t bother opening my door. It took months for me to persuade him my arms aren’t ornaments.

“My hero,” Mimi whispers as I climb in next to her.

“It might easily have worked out very differently.”

“Yeah, but it didn’t.”

“He definitely had ’roid rage,” I murmur, gingerly touching my jaw. I feel very far from a hero or a good man right now.

“Road rage?” she asks, confused.

“’Roids,” I qualify, sliding her a look. “He looked the type to be a steroid abuser. If you were looking to take someone home, better to look for a man who doesn’t walk around like he has a rolled carpet shoved under each arm.”

“Oh my God, he did look like that, right?” She gives a ridiculously adorable giggle, deliberately refusing to take the bait. I decide to be a little blunter.

“He wouldn’t have been able to reach his dick, never mind fuck you with it.”

And then sledgehammer blunt.

And because it’s just that kind of moment, George climbs into the driver’s seat in time to hear my less-than-eloquent summing up of the situation. His wide eyes meet my unhappy ones in the rearview mirror, though he glances quickly away. A second later, the Bentley starts with a throaty purr.

Fuck this—why am I’m feeling uncomfortable? George is a hardened East Londoner, so I bet he hears worse language on a daily basis. Shit, I bet his five-year-old grandson has said worse at the breakfast table. Maybe not about steroid abuse.

While George might not be embarrassed, when I turn to Mimi, her jaw seems to have unhinged. Which is weird, because that’s exactly how she makes me feel. Fucking deranged with lust and the need to shake some sense into her. I don’t know whether I’m on my arse or my elbow with her. I don’t know whether I want to fuck her or spank her.

Probably all of the above.

Agog, that’s the word to describe her reaction. Good. The woman needs shocking, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel satisfied that I’d managed it. For once. It’s like the return of my equilibrium, the sense of how things should be as I lean over the center console and press my forefinger under her chin.

“Close your mouth.” I lean closer still. My next words are a sultry purr at her ear. “Unless you want me to put something in it.”

She swallows, and her gaze turns inward, stunned or imagining just that. Again, both work for me. I shift in my seat in an attempt to discreetly adjust my now tight pants when George’s voice plucks at my attention.

“Where to?” His tone might be casual, but it looks like someone has shaved off his eyebrows and painted them just below his hairline. I never realized before, but it seems George has the hearing of an elephant.

I open my mouth to reply, still conflicted and unsure if I’m going to take her home or to my—

“We’re going to Knightsbridge,” Mimi answers clearly and without hesitation.