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Glancing over his shoulder, Jake indicated that I keep going with a nod of his head. Irritation made the skin on my arms itch, but I kept quiet, allowing him to keep me mystified for longer. Apparently, he had to show me rather than tell, that's what he'd claimed when I'd ordered him to tell me what the fuck was going on.
Speeding up my step to match his, I almost dived into the bathroom when he pointed at the door. Ah, there was probably a leak. He had warned me that some of the pipes were getting old, and although I'd tried my best to design the room around them, I had been aware that I might have to replace them–
“Shit,” I snapped as the door swung closed behind me.
My palms broke out into sweat as I went closer to the sink, my eyes absorbing the mess in front of me. The mirror was smashed, lines spreading out from the bullet hole in the middle. closer, I studied the hole, gasping when I reached for the wood behind the frame and felt the actual bullet lodged into the wall.
“Who did this?” I asked, turning to my security guard come club assistant.
My teeth clenched as he pointed to the stalls. Painted in bright red across the doors was a name... Hers.
“Lola?” I whispered, the air escaping my lungs and leaving it impossible for me to breathe.
Her emblazoned name sent a chill tripping down my spine. Going to it, I swiped my hand through the wet paint. It smeared on my finger, only partially dry. I wasn't surprised, whoever had painted my assistant's name on the doors had made sure to use a thick layer of red glossy paint.
“I've got my man checking the CCTV now.” Clearing his throat, Jake shuffled on his feet.
I glared at him, waiting for him to express whatever it was that he clearly wanted to say. He took my silence as an invitation to talk. It was a good job, the seething ball of fire in the pit of my stomach would explode from my mouth if I spoke too soon.
“It must have happened in the night,” he went on, running a hand through his floppy hair.
Frowning, I took a step closer to him. “How is that possible?” I pushed through my teeth, “Your team should've been here to stop anyone from entering.”
Shrinking under my gaze, Jake stuttered his reply. “We had a bit of a late-night party in the entertaining room. A few people came and...”
His sentence trailed off as I stepped forward, grabbed his jacket and hauled him off his feet. “You did what?” I roared, pushing him against the wall with a crash.
He grunted and went still, not bothering to fight against my strong grip. My veins burned as I stared into his eyes, searching for something that might stop me from beating the shit out of him.
“I'm going to be a dad,” he whimpered, “I'm sorry, it was a celebration. We shouldn't have...”
Unclenching my fingers, I let him drop to the floor. His words were water, dousing the flames that flickered inside. He was going to be a father.
“How can I be angry at you now?” I said, turning back to the mirror. “Get me the report on the CCTV. Now.”
Scurrying out of the bathroom, he disappeared without a word. The silence echoed around me as I stared at the broken reflection of Lola's name. Who would have it in for my angel?
“Finley.” I spun on my heel and headed out of the bathroom.
“Joseph!”
My feet skidded as I almost collided withChase. The CEO of the Billionaires Society frowned at me. Chase had been my good friend since our university days. We'd even shared a dormitory, which had led us to discuss bizarre concepts, including what we thought about BDSM when he got a new kinky girlfriend.
“What's wrong?” The tall broad-shouldered man was the same height as me with dark red hair and a smattering of ginger whiskers.
He'd taken on the persona of Jamie Frasier from Outlander as soon as the television show had made the character famous. Even his dating profile had been centred on his likeness to the much-loved Scotsman.
Except, he was wearing a thousand-pound suit and had his hair slicked back off his forehead. He was worth billions, just like the rest of us.
“Just some vandalism in the bathroom, nothing too serious.” The words almost blocked my throat as I forced the lie out.
It was serious, fucking serious. No one threatened Lola and got away with it. Clearly Finley had an issue with being rejected. And I had an issue with him.
“How have you been, chap? You've been pretty quiet recently.” He turned to stand beside me as some of the men arrived, heading straight to the chairs in front of the stage.
They lounged on the gilded gold edged theatre seats, almost too big for them. I'd left some of the original seats, which had probably been designed by a tiny woman, for when there was a show. It meant we could all be at the front, enjoying what our latest patron had to offer.
“I've met someone,” I said cautiously.
