Page 28 of Twisted Lies
I frowned. “This can’t be right.”
“Young lady, if you want to go to another address, tell me where to go. If not, pay the fare.”
I bit my lower lip. “No, I’m good.” I paid before hopping out.
Pulling damp tendrils of hair away from my neck, I stared at the huge sign,McKay Corporation, as if it were a mirage. A shiver of trepidation ran down my spine.
This was all wrong—first the Ram call, then Tabitha’s disappearing act, and now this. Someone was fucking with me, and I wanted to know who and why. Pulling myself to my full height, I walked confidently through the glass doors and over to the guest desk.
“I’m here to see Mr. Steele.” I tapped my fingers on the counter, hoping the man would say I was in the wrong building.
The guard looked at me blankly. “Ms. Michaels, ID, please.”
Shit. I’m at the right building.
Fumbling inside my handbag, I pulled out my driver’s license and handed it over. “Here.”
He glanced at it briefly. Then he scanned my license through a device on his tablet before smoothly tapping the on-screen keyboard.
I frowned. “What are you doing with my information?”
“Just a security precaution, Ms. Michaels. We record the information of everyone who enters this building.” He nodded toward the elevator as he returned my license. “Top floor.”
The elevator ride up to Steele’s office was the longest one I’d ever taken. I wasn’t sure what was going on, but I didn’t like it one bit. If Mr. Steele thought he could just screw me on this deal without a fight, he was damn mistaken. I was prepared to do battle.
The elevator dinged, and I stepped out into the palatial suite decorated with ornate, eighteenth-century furniture. My eyes immediately went to the office door guarded by two well-dressed, armed men.
“Is this an office or a high-security prison?” I mumbled under my breath.
I walked down a long hallway, passing by a massive glass conference room. My sway became deliberately more sensual when I noticed a striking woman sitting behind a large desk, scrutinizing me with frank disapproval. She scanned my outfit of skintight leather leggings paired with a black T-shirt and tailored jacket. I didn’t give a shit. I had plenty of appropriate business attire, but I’d promised myself years ago that I wouldn’t dress or act a certain way to please anyone but myself. I kept it real. If Mr. Steele didn’t like it, he could kiss my ass.
I stopped before her desk. “I’m here to see Ram Steele.”
“Have a seat, Ms. Michaels,” she responded with a British accent.
Giving her a cold smile, I responded with, “Thanks, but I’ll stand.”
“Your prerogative,” she huffed.
Just to get under her skin, I swayed over to the cushy chairs, making sure that my ridiculously high stilettos tapped loudly on the marble floor.
“Shh!” she snapped with an admonishing glare.
I snickered.What an uptight wench.I could just imagine what Mr. Steele was like. He was probably some uptight billionaire who was so old his bones cracked when he walked.
I turned my head in the direction of the huge office door that had just opened. My eyes widened at the sight of the tall, lean, and exceedingly handsome man striding toward me.
Jesus, he’s hot enough to make panties melt.
He tilted his head curiously as he greeted me coldly. “Please come in, Ms. Michaels. Mr. McKay is waiting.”
I recognized his voice—Ram Steele. I quirked a brow. “What’s going on?”
Silently, he motioned me to enter the office.
“I asked you a question, Mr. Steele,” I snapped.
Mr. Steele heaved a long-suffering sigh before pressing a gentle hand against the middle of my back, nudging me into the office. “Ms. Michaels, a word of advice—if I were you, I would play nice with him. He’s in a real fucked-up mood today,” he said, his voice clipped, before closing the door behind him with a decisive click.
