“Not really,” I whispered.

“You will be,” he whispered back, pushed off and stalked to the door.

By the time he got there, I’d pushed myself up in the chair but had not been able to scramble out of it before he pinned me to the spot with his eyes.

“That dress, babe, you wear it again, it’s only for me.”

Then he disappeared through the door, I heard it lock from the other side and he was gone.

Chapter Five

Wars Fought Over a Face Like This

Call me crazy, heck, even I thought I was crazy, but the next day, at quarter ‘til one, I was in my car heading to Knight’s high-rise.

I did not call the police.

No, not me.

But I did call Vivica and Sandrine and gave them the lowdown because, if I disappeared, I figured someone should know where to begin to search for my body.

Last night, shortly after Knight left, a waitress came in accompanied by a bouncer who was there, I knew, so I wouldn’t try to escape.

I tried ordering a sparkling water again hoping that if Knight got that pissed that Nick put his hands on Sandrine, he wouldn’t order a bouncer to wail on me for ordering water.

He didn’t. They retreated and in order to attempt to calm my terror, I looked around.

The walls were a rich, warm red, not blood, bordering on wine. A huge, dark wood desk covered in stuff. Knight worked, that was obvious. Laptop, multi-line phone, papers and folders strewn, two (that I could see) expensive-looking pens lying on top of papers, big manila envelopes, etc. There was a high-back black, swish-looking swivel chair behind the desk, in front of it, two supple, burgundy leather chairs. There was a matching sofa against the wall, in front of it a dark wood coffee table. In a corner, another dark wood table, this round with five, burgundy leather chairs surrounding it. A long, low chest against the wall opposite the couch, on it were bottles of booze. No fancy decanters. Just a bottle of Jack Daniels, one of Grey Goose, one of Tanqueray, one of Patron tequila. A variety of heavy, cut, crystal glasses. Down from the booze and glasses, a smooth piece of warm-colored wood intricately, artistically and interestingly carved into the shape of a voluptuous female’s torso from neck to top thigh, arms wound behind her back, the wood and curves of her figure all waves, undulating with the grain. It was fantastic though I didn’t want it to be because that would say Knight had good taste (or even better than I already expected) and I didn’t want to think anything good about him.

But there was further proof of it in the prints on the wall. Enormous panoramas of black framed, cream matted, black and white shots of Denver skylines.

There was a credenza behind Knight’s desk also covered with work detritus. On one side there were two narrow cases with glass fronts that held a whopping huge collection of CDs. Mounted on the wall was a slim but tall CD player that held ten CDs. It was a work of art, I’d seen it on the website of where he bought me my phone and although I didn’t check the price, I knew it had to cost way more than my phone. To top that, there were awesome speakers set on curved wood stands in each corner of the room.

After I was served my water, I sipped it and waited. I did this as I stared at the heaving club through the big, what I knew was one-way window that started at my waist and took nearly the rest of the wall. And I did this watching the dancing bodies, the lights, the flirting, the laughing all bizarrely incongruous as the strains of soothing classical music drifted around me.

I would not guess Knight was a classical man. I would guess he was an unbelievably good-looking psychopath but not one who listened to Beethoven (or whoever).

But there it was.

I had about ten minutes to sip my water before I was whisked away by a bouncer who didn’t introduce himself, didn’t speak and looked somewhat like the Incredible Hulk but without green skin. But even though I didn’t know his name, he walked me up to my apartment, walked through it then, luckily, walked out of it.

I did not dream of Knight last night mostly because I did not sleep a wink.

What I did do was get up, prepare carefully for my confrontation with him, call my friends to share my story and organize my stuff to take my client.

Incidentally, neither Vivica nor Sandrine were hip on me confronting Knight Sebring on my own. Vivica because she was smart enough to be terrified and equally smart enough to do the right thing, like call the cops. Sandrine because she had a taste of the Sebrings last night, she didn’t like it much, it pierced the Daddy’s Little Princess fortress she wandered through life behind and she was terrified for me. I was pleased this fortress was pierced and hoping that maybe she’d wake up a bit but I was absolutely not pleased by how this happened.

We would see.

Now I was wearing my best pair of jeans. And also my best pair of high-heeled, brown boots (yes, crazy, but I wanted height and the toe was pointed so if I had to kick him in the shin, that would sting). I paired this with my best sweater, cashmere, a pale pink, another secondhand store purchase. It had a super-low dip in the back. But I covered up the expanse of skin it would show with a creamy, pointelle racerback tank. Sure, you could see my pink bra straps and often the sweater drooped off a shoulder but I also had on my smart, blazer-style brown leather jacket (bought two seasons out at a discount designer warehouse at the outlet stores in Castle Rock). I didn’t intend to take off the blazer so the sweater didn’t matter anyway.

Smoothed out hair. Enough makeup to hide I had no sleep but subtle. A spritz of perfume mostly out of habit. Silver hoops in my ears also mostly out of habit. And the rest, just me.

Unfortunately, the only parking spot I could find was around the corner and half a block up from his place. This meant, after I fed the meter enough to give me fifteen minutes wondering why in this ‘hood they didn’t give Sundays free, when I hit the lobby of his place to see the doorman worked Sundays, I was seven minutes late.

If Knight was livid, screw him.

This was going to stop, now. Both him and his brother. And I was going to make that point. Personally.

If it didn’t, the next stop, the police.

“Miss Gage,” the doorman greeted, smiling at me, freaking me out that he knew my last name and picking up the phone, “Mr. Sebring said you’d be arriving. I’ll ring up.”

Then before I could say word one, he had the phone to his ear.

I took in a breath, smiled back because he wasn’t a jerk, just one – no, two – of his tenants were and I settled in to wait, mentally girding for battle.