Page 71 of Knocked Up by my Best Friend's Brothers

“That’s not going to work,” Nathan chimes in. “Tell you what, Sally. Why don’t you tell us where his office is and then go take a quick bathroom break. Nobody needs to know you let us in. I promise.”

“I… I can’t do that,” she says with a trembling voice.

“You’re terrified of the guy,” I conclude, feeling my eyes widen with genuine astonishment.

“Please, just leave a name and number, and I’ll—Hey!” She panics when Nathan heads straight toward the elevator.

I move to stand in her way. My towering height and size are enough to get a clear message across. “Have a seat or go to the bathroom, Sally. Either way, we’re going in,” I tell her. “Where is his office?”

Finally, she relents and takes a few steps back. “End of the hall.”

“Thank you.”

We walk down the hall and enter Mancini’s office. He turns around in his swivel chair. He’s talking on the company’s landline.

“Yeah, they just came in, Sally,” he grumbles. “It’s fine. I’ve got this.” He hangs up and gives us both a nasty look. “Who the hell are you?”

“I’ll be the one asking the questions,” I say. “Are you Vince or are you Constantine? According to the public filings, there are two of you currently employed here in top management. So, which one are you?”

I get a good look at him: He’s tall, mid-thirties, with dark hair and green eyes—typical of the Mancinis, from what I read in their online profiles. They don’t post much, but when they do, they love to show off their wealth. He’s not wearing a suit, though, just jeans and a black leather jacket over a dark shirt.

“I’m gonna ask you again,” he says, his tone dropping by a few degrees. “Who the fuck are you, and what are you doing here?”

“Cassius Hawthorne.”

“Nathan Hawthorne.”

“What do you want?”

“Answer my question first. Which Mancini are you?”

He chuckles dryly. “Which Mancini have you got a beef with?” he asks. “I know we’ve got a thing for married women in my family, but we’re not all dogs.”

He’s testing my patience. But Nathan beats me to it. He takes out the note Christa received after she was driven off the road and shows it to him. “Is this yours?”

The guy reads it. “Whoa, that sounds nasty.”

“Is this yours?” Nathan asks again with a clipped tone.

“I’m Vince,” he finally concedes. “But I don’t know what that message is or who wrote it. I had nothing to do with it.”

I clear my throat, holding back a mocking laugh. “Please, we all know that’s bullshit. You followed someone into Portland, a former employee from Perry-Sage. It’s all over the wire.”

“Again, I tell you, you’ve got this wrong. I’m just here to assist my cousin Constantine with the day-to-day operations of this stationery supply company,” Vince replies.

“When did you get to Portland?” I ask him.

“About a week ago. Why?”

“Are you sure?”

Vince flashes another cool grin. It makes my knuckles itch. I’d like nothing more than to punch it off his face. “Gentlemen, whatever this is, I’m not playing.”

“Christa Campbell.” Nathan plays the high-risk game. We talked about it. We have to rattle this fucker somehow. “You followed her here.”

“I don’t know who that is.”

Either he’s a terrible liar or he wants me to think he’s a terrible liar, but the heightened pitch in his voice tells me he is, in fact, lying.

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