Page 16 of Bad Boss

“Ah.” I nod, mentally filing away every nuance in his expression and every word. “And this club? You’re thinking of some kind of agreement…”

Bellamy jerks his chin to glare out of the window. “Think of it more like collateral. I won’t get into the specifics of it now,” he says, but before I can argue, he adds, “Just know that it isn’t typical of my other business ventures.”

An atypical club. I glance down at the plunging neckline of my dress. Little by little, his erratic behavior is starting to make sense—and at least now I can link it to something with definite proof. Adrian Riley and his strange club.

“So, this meeting…”

“It’s an important one,” he admits, sighing. “Frankly, that’s all I feel you should know for now. At least on that subject.”

Fair enough. The request won’t save him in the long run, of course. I will eventually get to the bottom of this, but something in his expression makes it easier to back down. For now.

“Then, after tonight, everything will go back to normal?” I can’t ignore the hopeful tone in my voice at the prospect.Normal. Order. Freedom from this chaos.“By that, I mean, a regular schedule and no impromptu shopping trips, and time to discuss my contract?”

As if sensing my anxiety, Bellamy shifts in his seat and strokes his jaw with his index finger. “Perhaps.”

It’s not exactly a promise, but I latch onto it anyway.

Twenty minutes later, James deposits us in the front of a posh building in the heart of the Upper East Side.Elegantis the only word that can even remotely describe the brick façade graced by a ruby-red awning. Two waiters in matching black suits stand beside the entrance and spring into action to open the doors when Bellamy and I approach.

Crossing the threshold is like wandering into a parallel realm as a million implications sink in—I’ve never been with him to dinner before. Never like this. Never… alone. The dining room is spacious, with dimmed lights casting an intimate ambiance. Waiters and waitresses dressed in demure black uniforms do their best to blend into the background while guests wearing business suits or designer couture sip on glasses of wine and chardonnay.

“Bellamy. Reservation for four,” Bellamy declares to a smiling host who promptly leads us through a maze of black tables topped with cream tablecloths.

“Four?” The question barely leaves my mouth when my gaze falls over the couple seated a few tables away. Adrian Riley sits with his head cocked, mouth lowered near the ear of his table companion—the same woman who met us in his office, Dahlia. She laughs at whatever he says, her eyes sparkling as they flit in our direction. With his mouth set in a permanent half-smirk, her companion copies her, his gaze ghosting over me.

“Bellamy,” Riley calls out to us, his voice easily carrying across the room. “So glad that you could join us.”

His charming smile is magnetic, his expression nothing but a mask of politeness—an appearance that serves as a stark contrast to Bellamy’s reaction. If I’m not mistaken, he growls. The sound travels down my spine, resonating in the satin of this damn dress. I feel his discomfort in my bones with every step we take toward the table. To those who don’t know him as well as I do, the way he shakes Mr. Riley’s hand could almost seem friendly.

Not feral.

CHAPTER6

evie

“Iwas able to clear my schedule at the last minute,” Bellamy says before running his palm down the side of his slacks. It’s a subtle gesture of hostility that I’m sure no one at the table misses. Regardless, Mr. Riley’s smile only seems to widen.

“At the last minute,” he repeats softly. His eyes drift in my direction and settle over the front of my dress. “I hope you weren’ttooinconvenienced, Ms. King.”

I dig my nails into my palms to reinforce my dad’s old mantra.Stiff upper lip, Evie. Never let them see ya sweat.

“Not at all,” I manage to croak.

“Lovely.”

My cheeks catch fire as Adrian Riley flashes yet another dazzling display of white teeth, but the expression sets me on edge in ways I can’t explain. Maybe it’s the elbow that Mr. Bellamy rams into my side as if to reinforce the gist of our prior conversation—use my skill of observation.

“This is Dahlia,” Riley says, gesturing to the beautiful woman beside him. “Though I believe you met earlier, at the office.”

She smiles demurely and casts us a searching glance from beneath her eyelashes. “Hello. It’s a pleasure to see you again,” she says, her eyes on Bellamy. “I am a frequent patron of Atelier Noir’s European distributors during my visits overseas.”

“I must say, the quality has improved drastically over the years,” Mr. Riley interjects, his upper lip quirked.

As my brain processes his words, I feel my cheeks catch fire. Is he implying what I think he is? Looking at him and Dahlia, I can’t tell a damn thing. They hold themselves with a professional, though impersonal posture, that makes it hard to discern whether they are strangers, or more intimate partners than client and lawyer…

A few more polite introductions go around, but the moment Mr. Bellamy reaches for a chair and pulls it out for me to sit, it’s like he’s picking up the gauntlet that Adrian Riley himself set down by inviting him here. When Bellamy takes the seat beside me, I sense the tension boil over like water in a kettle.

“So, Bellamy,” Mr. Riley says from across the table. “I trust you’ve settled okay in the States.”

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