Page 8 of Angel

I shrug. My tone dismissive.

“I run a business, Hailey, not a charitable institution. My employees are there because they have earned that right. I pay well, too well, and subsequently there are very few resignations. I have no use for anyone else on my team, and if I did, it certainly wouldn’t be your brother.”

For a moment she stares in utter horror and then gasps, “Well, that told me.”

I shrug. “I don’t mess around. I’m successful for a reason, and business and pleasure don’t mix well. I wish your brother every success in his future, but it won’t be at PowerTech.”

I turn away, conversation over, tension wrapping me in pleasure.

I’m a bastard. I’m known for it, and it’s occasions like this that bring out the worst in me. I’m not interested in helping people I know as favors. I wouldn’t have made billions in a few years by being nice.

I don’t hang around to ride the wave of discontent she is sending my way. I’m done with the conversation.

My gaze falls on Sophie, still in Giovanni’s clutches, and I sigh.

Why couldn’t she just stay in her lane?

Her message on my phone burns.

I want to meet.

For a moment, I consider sending one of the others. It’s my preferred choice, my usual choice, but as she moves past me again, something about the way she holds herself away from Giovanni, the distance in her smile, and the emotion devoid in her eyes catches my curiosity.

What secret is Sophie Clere hiding? What is going on behind that perfect facade?

The fact that this gala is boring as fuck has a lot to do with my decision, and as I stride to the exit, my mind is made up.

* * *

“Sir.”

Jameson, my chauffeur, is waiting, and as he holds the door open, I nod.

“Thanks.”

Once I’m inside the car, I pull out my phone and study the message that came through less than half an hour ago.

I dash out a text to the group.

Meet me at the crypt.

As we head home, I note the homeless in the doorways and the flickering neon signs disguising the filth they live among. Loud music, calls mingling with screams, are the usual nocturnal sounds that serenade me.

I consider Sophie’s request.

We need to meet.

She has worked for us for six months already and has never asked to meet. Something must have happened.

I’m unusually on edge, sensing change.

I hate change.

It doesn’t take long to reach the mansion; the gates opening on rails as we pass through them. Lights illuminate the landscape, and I’m aware of the laser beams offering more effective security than any camera.

This is my fortress. Our fortress.

Nobody comes here uninvited, and not many get one.