He led her out to the private marble-floored foyer and into the lift that solely served the presidential suite. Stepping in with her, he swiped a gold access card and pressed the button for the ground floor. Goldie was thankful for his discretion as they exited onto a side street that led to Fifth Avenue, but she couldn’t stop herself from wondering how many times this butler-driver scene had been staged to facilitate Gael’s predilection for one-night stands.
The very thought filled her with even more distaste and anger, darkening her mood as she emerged into the sunlight.
The limo was parked only steps from the revolving doors, its driver standing attentively at the back door. He tipped his hat when he saw her, his face politely neutral.
Goldie hated herself for the lie she was about to tell, but she would never be able to live with herself if she let this go unchallenged. She couldn’t bear the thought that Gael Aguilar would reside in his lofty kingdom, content that he’d bought and paid for her and was therefore free of wrongdoing. So she waited until the butler had retreated before she faced the driver and waved the scribbled note.
‘Gael left me a message that you were to take me wherever I wanted to go?’
‘Yes, miss,’ the driver responded.
‘Well, I’d like to go home, but now the silly man wants me to have breakfast with him before I do. And after my unfortunate mugging last night I don’t have a phone to call and tell him I can’t. Can you take me to where he is, please?’ she pleaded.
The driver started to frown.
Goldie hurriedly continued. ‘It’d serve him right for me to just let you take me home, but I don’t want to get into another fight with Gael. Not for another twenty-four hours, at least! So help a girl out—please?’ She put on her best smile.
After the briefest hesitation, he nodded. ‘Of course, miss. He’s not too far away.’
‘Thank you.’ Goldie expelled a secret sigh of relief as he opened the back door and helped her in. The moment the door shut she unclenched her fists and closed her eyes as a deep shudder of unexpended adrenaline rushed through her.
The limo started to move and she
was thrown back to last night. She should have walked away, found the nearest police station and taken her chances with the men in blue rather than the man in a black suit.
Pursing her lips, she squashed down might-have-beens and caught the driver’s eye in the rearview mirror. ‘Is he...is he in a meeting?’
Now she was doing this, the thought of an audience made her cringe—but not enough to alter her decision.
‘Yes, miss. The production meeting should be done in half an hour.’
She fought back slight trepidation, nodded and murmured her thanks. Trying to calm her nerves was no use. Her heart was thrumming loud enough to block out the busy sounds of New York traffic as they traversed Midtown.
When the driver pulled up in front of a sheer glass office tower Goldie almost lost her nerve. The bundle of cash clutched in her fist—the representation of the grossest insult she’d ever suffered—spurred her on.
She exited the car and nodded her thanks.
The driver said, ‘He’s on the tenth floor, I believe. I’ve called the receptionist. She’ll let you in. And, miss...?’
Goldie paused. ‘Yes?’
‘He probably deserves what’s coming to him, but go easy on him.’
Her eyes widened. The tall, heavyset man, who might easily double as a bodyguard, doffed his cap with a discreet smile before getting back into the car. Bemused, she walked into the building, wondering why the driver was giving her access to confront his boss if he’d seen through her ruse.
Maybe he felt Gael deserved it? On account of having done it before?
Her bewilderment increased as the lift rushed to the tenth floor. But by the time she exited and was shown to the conference room her anger was firmly in place. She shoved open the double doors and entered.
Gael sat at the head of a large table, flanked by executives on either side. She didn’t bother to stop and count how many people were in the room, but she knew all eyes had turned to train on her.
He saw her, froze mid-speech, his eyes widening, wary and watchful. On a screen to the side of him a vaguely familiar man also stopped talking and glanced her way.
‘Goldie—’
‘This is how you operate, is it?’ She waved the envelope at him from the opposite end of the oval table. Her voice shook with anger, but she didn’t care. ‘What’s the twenty-first-century version of wham-bam, thank you, ma’am? And, seriously, after that mind-blowing night I would’ve thought I’d warrant at least fifty thousand! Are you sure you don’t want to revise the sum? After all, sleeping with a big, bad boss like you would gain me upwards of few hundred thousand if I should take it to the press, hmm?’ she sliced at him.
He surged to his feet, planting his hands on top of the table as his cold eyes glared dire warning at her. ‘Goldie, this isn’t the time—’