Page 66 of A Mistake of Worth
Henri glanced around desperately. The London street was busy with evening foot traffic, but no one was paying attention to two well-dressed men having what looked like a normal conversation. His own car service would be arriving any minute—he could see a black BMW turning the corner, probably his ride back to Michael’s.
“No,” Henri said, surprising himself with the steadiness of his own voice. “My car is here. I’m going home.”
Marc’s eyebrows rose slightly, as if Henri had said something amusing. “Home? Is that what you’re calling it now?”
He reached for the rear door handle. “Before you run off, I thought you might like to see who’s been keeping me company in your absence.”
He opened the LuxDrive’s door.
Inside, pressed against the far window, sat a young man Henri recognized but couldn’t immediately place. Brown hair, nervous eyes, wearing a button-down shirt that looked expensive but ill-fitting. The boy—because that’s what he was, really, maybe nineteen or twenty—was sitting very still, very straight, the way people sat when they were trying not to draw attention.
Henri’s memory clicked into place. “David?”
David Mitchell. The HR intern from the VP lunch. Sweet kid, eager to please.
“You remember,” Marc said pleasantly. “I was so pleased when David called, looking for you after you left PDC. Apparently, you made quite an impression during that lunch. He was hoping for some career guidance.”
Marc’s hand rested on the door frame, casual but blocking any escape route. “Of course, your phone has been... unreachable. So he called the apartment landline instead. I was happy to take the message personally.”
David’s eyes met Henri’s for just a moment before darting away. There was something desperate in that brief glance, something that made Henri’s chest tighten with familiar dread.
“Marc,” Henri said carefully, “he’s just a kid. An intern. He doesn’t have anything to do with this.”
“Doesn’t he?” Marc tilted his head with false curiosity. “You seemed quite taken with him at that lunch. Patricia was kind enough to share the details when I asked. How you made him blush, how charming you were. How you touched him.”
His voice dropped lower, more dangerous. “I thought it only fair that David get the full Henri Rohan experience.”
Henri’s car pulled up to the curb.
“That’s my ride,” Henri said.
“Cancel it.”
“I can’t just—”
“Henri.” Marc’s voice cut through. “Get in the car. Now. Or David and I will have to continue our conversation without you.”
He leaned down slightly, speaking directly to the boy in the backseat. “You’d prefer Henri came along, wouldn’t you, David?”
David nodded quickly. Henri could see his hands shaking.
“Please,” David said quietly, his voice barely audible. “Please, Mr. Rohan.”
The word ‘please’ hit Henri hard. How many times had he said it himself, in that same desperate tone, hoping someone would help him?
Henri closed his eyes for a moment, then opened the car app and canceled the ride.
When Henri turned back, Marc was smiling. “Good choice. Always so reasonable, Henri. It’s one of your best qualities.”
Henri got into the car, sliding in beside David. The boy pressed himself harder against the window, as if trying to disappear entirely. Up close, Henri could see the telltale signs—the carefully controlled breathing, the rigid posture, the way David’s fingers gripped the edge of the seat.
“Where are we going?” Henri asked as Marc settled into the seat beside him. “I don’t have my things with me. They’re at Michael’s.”
“I know where they are.” Marc’s smile was all teeth. “We’ll make a quick stop. Drew’s already coordinating with our pilot at Farnborough.”
Henri’s heart sank. Drew—Marc’s personal security, six feet of muscle and loyalty wrapped in expensive suits. If Drew was here, then this wasn’t some impulsive decision. Marc had planned this, had resources in place, had been watching and waiting.
The car’s autopilot engaged smoothly as they pulled into London traffic. Marc settled back in his seat, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
