He nods and turns, crooking his finger.
“I have rules. I want you to follow them while you're with me," he says.
I nod, waiting.
"No drinking. None. Don’t ask questions when I’m talking to the staff. Save them for when we’re alone. And you do as I tell you. Stay where I put you."
I'm so excited I'll do just about anything he asks. I smile privately, trying to lower my gaze.
"And, Sofia, keep up. Understand? I haven't got time for chasing adolescent behaviour.”
Asshole.
"Do. You. Understand?"
“Yes.”
“Good.” He sets off, and I follow in his wake, suddenly sullen.
“Where to first?”
“The manager.”
“What exactly do you need to check up on?” I ask, as we enter the elevator. I stand next to him and tilt my head up towards him, waiting for his answer.
“He’ll show me the schedule and plan for the night. I’ll review. Maybe ask a few questions.”
“So, it’s not an exact, like, checklist?”
“Yes, there are explicit things…”
“But it sounds like this is beneath you. Don’t casinos and hotels open every day in the world? Wouldn’t Uncle Quinn want you doing something else? Board meetings, investors?”
“We don’t have a board or investors.”
“Right.” I stop talking, feeling foolish, and resign myself to following Carter’s lead.
“And Sofia?” I look up, hoping for something to make me feel useful, or even wanted here. “Don't use the term 'uncle' again. Especially not out on the floor. It paints you as a target.”
As soon as the doors open, he’s off, striding powerfully across the lobby to the front desk. A tall, skinny man with glasses turns to greet him. He shakes his hand and turns to me.
“This is Sofia. She’s shadowing me.”
The manager nods in my direction before we both follow Carter.
Again.
For the next two and a half hours, I’m quiet. I listen intently, watching how Carter interacts with the staff. He’s efficient. Succinct. And gets right to the point. There’s no conversation. From what I’ve heard and seen, everything is legitimate. Not that I’d know what to look for to identify it as anything else, but him saying I could be a target made me think of all sorts of things.
“I’m going to change. Shall I meet you in the restaurant?” I offer to Carter, who’s finally not in the company of some other Cane employee.
“We’re booked into C-Code at seven.”
This time he doesn’t offer to babysit.
The excitement from earlier has left me feeling deflated. Seeing what actually happens in business isn’t all that interesting, and Carter barely looked at me for the rest of the afternoon. Instead he seemed to make every attempt to ignore me other than making sure I understood what was happening. At least I still have a date-ish to look forward to.
Back in the room, I slip into the midnight-blue cocktail dress and the more elaborate heels. Nothing too fancy, but worthy of a Cane. I pin my hair up, remembering my mom said I always looked more grown up that way.
I head for C-Code and scan the empty tables for Carter. The maître d’ takes pity on me. “Can I help you?”
“Yes, a table for Carter Wade?”
“Yes. This way.” He seats me at an empty table, looking out onto an empty casino floor. Only a dozen or so croupiers stand behind their tables. Pressed shirts, immaculate uniforms.
“Would you like to see the drinks menu?”
“No, she would not,” Carter interrupts.
“Sorry, Sir.”
He joins me, picking up the menu before he’s even acknowledged me.
I venture to break the sudden chill between us. “Was everything in order this afternoon? I couldn’t really tell if you were pleased with the preparations or not.”
“Everything is fine. They’re ready. And the entertainment for later is setting up.”
“Entertainment?”
“Yes, we have an aerial and laser show in the main room at midnight.”
That’s hours away, and although I have no restrictions and more freedom than I’ve ever had, it seems like I don’t know how to enjoy it on my own. Not surprising, given how little I've actually done with my life.
Carter spends much of the dinner with his phone glued to his hand. He also makes three calls. At least one is to Uncle Quinn. I know because it’s the only time he made eye contact with me, almost as if he was visually checking I was still here.
I distract myself by watching him from the corner of my eye. Glances that linger on his neck, his firm-set jaw, his hands as he balls his fists while speaking to someone in a hushed tone. Maybe my mood is more from lack of attention than anything else.
“Sofia, I’m sorry. I have another errand I need to run—a quick meeting with a supplier. You’re welcome to stay here. I won’t be more than an hour, tops.”
“Do I have a choice?”
He nods as if that’s all the explanation I need.
He turns and almost runs through the back of the restaurant area. He let me trail around with him all day; why should this meeting be any different? I stand and stride over to where he disappeared.
“Excuse me, Miss?”
I ignore the maître d’ and keep going. Luckily, there aren’t many patrons, just staff. I follow my nose, not sure if I’m following Carter anymore until I arrive at a backdoor. I push the emergency exit bar and warm, salty air blasts me. I step out and let the setting sun heat my air-conditioned skin.
The snick of the door behind me tells me I’ve been foolish and will have to go in search of another entrance. I round the corner, but halt, seeing Carter talking to another man in a suit next to a massive black SUV.
This meeting is nothing like the example of the business Carter has given me so far. I press myself closer to the wall to ensure I can’t be seen. The conversation between them is brief. Carter looks around as if checking he’s not being watched, before getting into the back of the SUV. Everything about him is suddenly different. More aggressive. Eyes hardened as if something needs dealing with and he's not happy. My heart rate increases, anxiety making me wonder what's going on, but the SUV screeches out of the back lot before I can take a guess.
What could be important enough to drag Carter away less than an hour from opening time?
Now the coast is clear, I head around the building looking to find my way back to the hotel or the casino. Instead of the restaurant, I go in search of a bar. Now that my babysitter isn’t with me, there’s no one to stop me having a drink. I'm having one. Several. I'm a grown up, or at least a nineteen-year-old who can easily pass for twenty-one. I’m in a grown-up world with no father sitting on my shoulder for once.
Two very slowly sipped drinks and over two hours sitting at the bar, and I’m ready to give up on Carter.
The bar is on the far side to the restaurant, with one of the casino floors in between. It started to fill up after the first hour and now it's bustling with a range of guests. All seem to be on their way to being drunk already. The cheers of winners and the electronic pinging of slot machines from the edge of the floor clash with the music in the bar.
“Hey, you seem kinda lonely.” A man with a southern drawl comes up to me.
“No, I’m fine, thank you.” I turn away, hoping he won’t bother me again.
“Oh, come on now, sugar. That’s no way to be polite.”
“I’m sorry, but I beg to differ. I'm perfectly polite. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” I slip from my stool and head away from him.
“Wait, wait, wait.” The man, who might be dressed in a suit but looks anything but smart in it, puts his hands up and blocks my exit. “I just thought we could have a drink. Celebrate a little. You can be my good luck charm for when I hit the tables.”
“Please move,” I ask, ignoring the rest of his drivel.
Instead, he begins to crowd me, forcing m
e to stop. My instinct to run kicks in, but I fight it. That’s not what I’ve been trained to do. At the moment, he’s not touched me, and if I want to leave without an assault charge, he's going to have to make the wrong move first.
Seven
My finger scrolls through the security protocols on my phone, looking for the penthouse to see if it’s been accessed. It hasn’t, and she’s not where I damn well left her. I stand and stare out into the main floor, scrutinizing the guests and searching for the blue cocktail dress that I tried not to give a damn for. It’s hot as hell, which is, yet again, something I shouldn’t be thinking about, but fuck if it isn’t the hardest thing not to do.
Leggy. Breasts perched exactly where I want them. And heels? Fuck me.
I need a drink.
Or another woman to look at.
“Mr Wade?” My head swings to look at Errol Gambit—apt name for the new floor manager. “Security have seen her in the bar on the mid deck. Do you want me to—”
Fuck.
I barge past him and head down to it, tucking my phone back into my pocket.
No booze. That’s what Quinn said. And by the look of her tonight, hair all piled up and a fucking obscene dress hugging curves no one should be looking at, she won’t have a problem with ID. She clearly doesn’t care about the rules she should be following.
The crowds hamper my route, which is good for business, but I find myself crashing through guests and not giving a fuck for their proximity.
Keep her safe—that’s my job. This place is filling up with creeps and their wandering fingers, all of whom will be far too interested in something that looks like her tonight. If anyone’s touching her, it’ll be me, not them. I shake my head, wishing she was anything but what she is. Sexy as fuck. Perfect everything. Pouty mouth that needs my dick shoving into it. Jesus.
The bar door bursts inwards, my hand pushing a guy out of the way in the process, and the first thing I see is a whirl of blue in the middle of the space. Her body twists, arm turning in the hold of some asshole who’s clearly tried it on. The lock he has on her is broken in an instant, and I watch as she perfects some precision moves to get out of the situation she’s in. I’m in stasis watching it, feet refusing to move until I’ve seen her battle her way out. Her elbow reels up into his face, followed by her knee straight to his groin. The guy doubles over, and then the heel of her hand sends the dick flying to his back. My mouth opens, mind waking the hell up again to get to her and help. Her neck cricks, eyes like daggers at what is now rolling on the floor beneath her feet. Sex on legs. Pure, unadulterated hellcat.
And where the fuck did it come from?
My legs finally catch up with my need to be a hero, and I charge through the last of the crowds to get to her. Not that I’m necessary anymore, but I might just kick the cunt for good measure. At the very least have him thrown out of the place. Another person gets knocked, as I reach for her shoulder to get her away from the clatter of people around her, but the moment my fingers land on her skin my jaw explodes in pain. My head reels back, my feet barely managing to keep me upright. The hell?
My hand slowly reaches for my jaw, the sting not something I’ve felt for a while, and I turn to look back at her. She’s poised, hands up in some defensive stance, feet planted as if she’s about to launch round fucking two. Everything in the moment slows. Timeless. The pain in my jaw, the look of her ready to deliver more. Both things seem to meld into something new for me. Something different.
Her mouth stutters, and she seems to regain focus, arms starting to drop from their position. I’m still in too much damn pain for actual words, so I wait, moving my jaw around and grinding my teeth to get traction on what the hell just went down.
“I’m sorry,” she eventually says.
Sorry? I ever get my hands on her naked skin and she sure as shit will be.
“Carter, I’m so sorry. But you came at me from behind and…” The smile that wants to creep across my face from just that thought alone is damn hard to stop.
“The hell do you think you’re doing?” I demand.
Everything that was contrite about her face sharpens again. I'd like to say it pisses me off, makes me want to dump her ass back on a plane. All it actually does is wind my dick up some more. “Protecting myself. Screw you, Carter.”
Her ass swings around and starts to storm off before I have chance to grab her. I follow, still rubbing my damn jaw, and eventually stop her before she gets into the elevator. She pulls out of my grip, so quickly I move my head in case she tries beating on me again, and then stabs the call button.
"We're not done here," I snap, reaching for her.
She spins in my hold, wrestling to get away. Screw that. Little madam needs teaching some damn manners. But the feel of her against my body winds up parts of me that shouldn't be thinking the way they are. I tense, trying to keep her still so she doesn't aggravate me anymore than she is doing, or my dick, but it's constant. The brush off her hair over my face, healthy little nails trying to dig in and cause pain. I end up slamming her body into the wall, desperate to keep her away from my dick. She gasps a breath at the impact, her eyes widening at my force. "Stay, the fuck, still."
It takes everything I've got to keep my body away from hers. But we’re still connected, my hands on her wrists sending a current of electricity straight through me. Her pulse thrums beneath my grasp, and our eyes lock as I fight the desire that stampedes over me. Soft lips. A dazed gaze looking back at me. Warm, ripe skin waiting for me to devour it.
“Let me go,” she says quietly. “You don’t get to touch me. No one does unless I ask for it.” And that statement has me begging for help from above to stop me doing something I shouldn't.
Finally, my brain kicks back in, making me do the right thing rather than reel headlong into wrong. I ease my fingers off her and back away a step, giving her the room she’s after. Probably best given what my dick wants to do to her anyway.
“You gonna tell me what that was about back there?” I ask, straightening my suit. Her eyes narrow, hands landing on her hips.
“No. I want to learn, Carter. Not discuss years of my father’s influence while in his protection. And, while I'm at it, I don’t want to be treated like a child and shoved in a corner to play nice while the big boys slope off and do god knows what. Where were you?”
My lips smirk a little, certainly given how close we just were.
Sassy little bitch.
“That’s none of your business.”
“It is. All of this is my business. All. Of. It. Tell me.”
“You keep acting like a fucking brat, Sofia, and I’ll tell you a lot of things. Show you them, too.” Her eyes widen, anger bringing all the fire back front and centre in my mind. “Most of which you aren’t adult enough to understand.”
“Screw you, Carter. I’m a Cane. And a Vico. If you really want to go toe to toe about who’s in control here, then let’s do this. Who was in the black car?”
“No one.”
“Who?”
Every instinct I have wants to sling her over my shoulder and fuck each attempt at authority out of her mouth. Prissy little madam needs strapping, or caning, until I've had my fill of prime Ivy League pussy. My eyes do the worst thing they damn well can. They inch across her skin, imagining all the things I could do to her if she wasn’t who she is.
“Carter? Who? Don’t treat me like my father does. I’m not having it anymore. If you won’t tell me, I’ll go out on those streets and find out for myself.”
“Go on then. You’ll have to work a damn sight harder than that to get information out of me.”
Her legs have turned and left before I’ve got my mind out of the gutter I’m failing to keep out of. “Sofia? Get your entitled little ass back here.”
No response. Nothing but her carrying on, hurrying down the stairs. Where the hell she thinks she’s going, I don’t know. What’s she going to do? Walk the damn streets like a whore in the hope of stumbling across
information? I carry on following her, eyes directed at her ass the entire way until she breaks out onto the pavement. Her head swings left and right, and then she’s off again towards the place I met the deal boys. She gets there eventually and paces as if she’s trying to make up her mind where to go.
“Plan?” I chuckle out.
“Oh, screw you. Asshole.”
And she’s off again.
My mouth breaks out into a smile. I can’t help it. Cute as fuck little ass stamping down the streets in heels that are far too high for her to get much further than a mile in. I keep following, doing nothing but watching the way she moves, the way she sweeps over the ground as if it’s not there. Other women walk by, none of them holding a candle to the flair she has. It makes my smile grow again as time stretches on, wondering why she intrigues me like she does. It’s probably the fact that I shouldn’t go within a mile of her. Not just because of her age, but because of her father. And although both those things should concern the fuck out of me, right now, they don’t.
What I should do is grab her, haul her ass back to the penthouse and make her stay put until the jet is ready to take us home. That’s what a sensible man would do. He’d block her out. Block his damn dick from thinking about things it shouldn’t be going anywhere near. For whatever reason, I don’t want sensible. I want to watch some more, tease myself. Enjoy her.
“Are we walking all night?” I call out.
“Screw you!”
That’d be nice.
I look up into the cooling night sky, chastising myself, and then refocus on her again and frown. She seems so engrossed in getting somewhere, anywhere. Her arms are wrapped around herself, mind probably a mess of anger and irritation about whatever is pissing her off.
“Stop moving your damn ass for five minutes. I’m not following it around all night. You don’t even know where you’re going, do you?”
She slows down enough that I eventually come into line beside her, and then round in front of her to stop her completely. I look down, noticing the tension around her features as she looks at the ground. She’s too pretty for that. Too young as well. Vico’s daughter should have everything she needs in life. What the fuck has she got to be unhappy about? My fingers dare to lift her chin up then snatch away because of the way she yields so easily to my touch.
Forbidden Eyes: A Cane Novel 4 Page 7
