Page 66 of Down Knot Out
They. Not just the lawyer I expected, but someone else.
I bite the inside of my cheek as we follow her across the reception area, my heels clicking on marble in sync with my racing pulse. The hallway tightens around us, its walls crowded with portraits of sharp-jawed Sinclairs in expensive suits, their unblinking eyes all identical.
The conference room door swings open, and I freeze mid-step.
Uncle Gregory sits at the head of a long, mahogany table, his silver hair and patrician features so similar to Augustus, the man I thought was my father, that my breath catches. Papersspread before him, a gold fountain pen held between manicured fingers. At his right sits a balding man with wire-rimmed glasses and a leather portfolio. The lawyer, I presume.
But it’s the third figure that turns my blood to ice.
Simon stands at the far end of the table, his skinny frame draped in an ill-fitting suit, his scraggly goatee failing to add definition to his weak chin. The blue stone of his bolo tie catches the light as he turns toward us, his face lighting up with a fervor that sends a tremor through my body.
Dominic’s arm slides around my waist, pulling me half behind him. “What the fuck is he doing here?”
A citrus-and-musk scent thickens the air as his protective pheromones flood the room, overpowering the subtle notes of wood polish and glass cleaner.
Uncle Gregory rises, straightening his tie. “Please, Mr. Sterling, no need for hostility. Simon has been instructed to maintain his distance.”
The lawyer remains seated, his expression bored, as if attempted kidnappings are nothing more than a mild inconvenience in his world.
“Chloe.” Simon steps forward, palms outstretched, a manic grin stretching his thin lips. “I’m so glad you came. I told them you’d see reason eventually.”
“Stay back.” Dominic shifts, blocking Simon’s view of me completely. The tendons in his neck stand out, his shoulder blades tight beneath his suit jacket.
Simon flinches, retreating a step. “I was only trying to help her. To protect her from?—”
“Mr. Sullivan.” Uncle Gregory’s interruption cracks like a whip. “Remember what we discussed.”
Simon’s mouth snaps shut, but his attention remains fixed on me, peering around Dominic’s shoulder. Prickles of unease rise on my skin under his stare.
“First, let me apologize for Mr. Sullivan’s… overzealousness.” Uncle Gregory gestures toward the chairs opposite him. “He was acting in what he believed were your best interests, Chloe.”
Dominic’s laugh lacks any trace of humor. “By trying to kidnap her? Is that what passes for ‘best interests’ in the Sinclair pack these days?”
My throat constricts, the room shrinking around me. The dark wood paneling absorbs the light, heavy curtains blocking the sun, leaving us in artificial brightness that turns familiar faces into strangers.
“Ms. Richardson had ignored all other attempts at communication.” The lawyer speaks for the first time. “While Mr. Sullivan’s methods were unorthodox, they succeeded in bringing you here today.”
My lungs burn as I force myself to breathe. “You’ve had nine years to reach out. Instead, you sent a stalker who hacked my accounts and attacked me in my home.”
Simon’s face twists with anger before smoothing into injured innocence. “I never attacked you. I was trying to save you from those Alphas. They were influencing you, affecting your career, twisting your mind?—”
“If you come within arm’s reach of her,” Dominic cuts in with a growl, “you’ll need more than this lawyer to save you.”
Uncle Gregory sighs with impatience. “Please, let’s be civilized. We have important matters to discuss.” He gestures again to the chairs. “Shall we?”
Dominic’s hand finds mine, our fingers weaving together as we head toward the table. Behind us, Simon tracks my path like a compass fixated on north.
We take seats across from Uncle Gregory and the lawyer, Dominic places me at the far side, as farfrom Simon as possible. The leather cushion chills the back of my thighs, and the armrests are smooth beneath my fingertips. I place my purse on the table as a small barrier between us and them.
Dominic stares down Simon, his knuckles white as he grips the edge of the table to stop himself from throttling the other man.
I force myself to straighten my spine and meet Uncle Gregory’s calculating stare.
“You look good, Chloe,” he murmurs. “Just like your mother.”
I stiffen. “I’d hardly call that a compliment, Uncle Gregory, all things considered.”
Awkward silence follows.
