Page 4 of The Price of Power

What kind of bullshit logic was that?

I wanted to tell him to go to hell, but I instinctually knew that wasn’t a good idea. This wasn’t the neighborhood bar back in Milwaukee. The people at the other tables were already starting to turn their heads and stare. And after the horrible day I’d had, the last thing I needed was to get thrown out of the lounge for causing a scene.

But what else could I do? The jerk was already pulling out the chair in front of him.

“Do not sit down,” I hissed.

“Too late. I already have.”

Oh great. Now, people weren’t just staring at us; they were starting to whisper as well. The judgmental couple was even gesturing toward the staff, no doubt to intervene and tell us to quiet down and behave.

This was mortifying.

“Please, if my boyfriend sees you here, he won’t be happy. And you really don’t want that.”

The jerk laughed—loudly enough to turn even more heads, and my embarrassed blush heated even more.

“Don’t you worry, sweetheart,” he slurred. “I’m sure I’m man enough to take whoever this boyfriend of yours might be.”

Oh, God. I ducked my head down, covering my face in shame.

“You sure about that?” Another voice cut in. A deeper, more commanding voice. One that made my head pop back up immediately, just in time to see the stranger clap his hand over the jerk’s shoulder.

The jerk jumped at the unexpected touch and started to spin around in his seat, ready to loose his bourbon-fueled rage on the poor man who dared to butt in. “Who the hell do you think you are, talking to me like?—“

The instant the jerk saw the man standing behind him, all the color drained from his face. His jaw hung open. It looked like the words that had stuck in his throat were now physically choking him.

And honestly, I couldn’t blame him for that reaction.

At first, I’d thought the stranger might have been one of the hotel staff, a burly bartender or manager that the waitress had sent to save me, but I quickly discarded that idea.

One look and it was clear this newcomer wasn’t some hourly worker. He was everything the drunk was trying so hard to be—masculine, assertive, and effortlessly attractive. Just simply standing there, the stranger gave off a sense of strength and power that demanded attention. This wasn’t some wanna-be poser in an off-the-rack suit.

This man was the real deal.

And clearly the drunk could sense it. His whole demeanor changed in an instant. All his bluster disappeared. His hands even started to shake. In that moment, I realized the jerk wasn’t simply intimidated by someone a couple rungs higher on the social ladder.

He was actually scared.

Scared stiff by the look of it. The poor man’s face and body were frozen in complete disbelief.

But the stranger broke him out of the state by saying, “You’re in my seat.”

“I-I’m sorry, sir,” the jerk sputtered, already rising from the chair.

I did my best to hold back the smile that was already threatening to spread across my face. Whoever this knight in shining armor—or, in this case, Armani—was, he certainly knew how to make a memorable entrance.

The jerk stumbled back from the table so clumsily that he bumped into the table of the judgmental couple across from me, jostling their drinks.

Strangely, this time, their tempers didn’t flare. Instead, they carefully kept their heads down even as their expensive martinis sloshed over the side of their glass.

Wow. I was impressed. This stranger wasn’t just good at intimidating drunk jerks. He could even make the rich and powerful shut up.

In fact, the whole lounge seemed to have quieted down since he’d made his entrance. There were more eyes than ever on us, but at least all the whispering had stopped.

If the stranger had noticed, he clearly didn’t mind the attention as he sat down in the now vacant chair across from me.

“That’s a good start,” he said to the jerk who was now clinging, white-knuckled, to the table behind him for support. “Now apologize to the lady.”