Page 15 of Rogue Romeo
Darcy cuts her brother off by raising her free hand. “Go on, Leo.” She squeezes my elbow lightly. “We’re all good here.”
“I’ll be by once my shift is finished to check on you.” Leonard slowly lets go of my elbow, and I look up at him to send him a small smile of reassurance.
He returns it softly before giving us his back while Darcy leads me behind the bar, toward a door labeledStaff Only.
“There’s a small apartment in the back, lovely. Let’s get you all cleaned up, yeah?”
* * *
ALEX
“What the fuck was that, Hunter?”
Grayson jogs to keep up with my brisk strides, despite having a good inch on my 6’3” frame. “What was what?”
I stop suddenly, rounding on him as he almost plows into my back.
“You’re a fucking turncoat, Gray. You were meant to have my back, and instead, you pissed all over me!”
My CFO has the decency to look slightly ashamed before opening his mouth to speak, but I cut him off.
“Give me your cell.”
I extend my hand, nodding with raised brows when he looks at me in question.
“Give me your damn cell.”
He shifts his gait to one foot, glancing to the side, and I know I’m right.
“He texted you to keep an eye on me, didn’t he?”
“Alex, he didn’t—”
“Don’t fuckinglie to me!”
My shout has every head on the floor turning toward our spat, including my assistant, Bailey, who frowns as he presses his finger to his lips in a shushing motion. But I’m too far gone, so I firmly ignore his attempted warning.
“I don’t need a damn babysitter, Gray. Ineededyou to have my back today.”
Pointing in the direction of whatusedto be my office, I snarl in a tone that’s utterly unlike me. “Go shadowhim, the almighty savior, who can do no wrong, and leave the fuck-up to do what he does best, hmm?”
My friend lifts sorrowful eyes to mine as conflict makes him fidget under my cool stare.
The elevator chooses that moment to arrive, the doors gliding open with ease. I step back onto it, my eyes never leaving Grayson’s as I hit the button for the ground floor.
Grayson, clearly making a decision, moves to step forward, but I hold up a quelling palm.
“You made your bed.”
The doors start to close, and I narrow my eyes to slits as I hiss, “Now, lie in it.”
My friend’s pained expression is all I see as the doors align and the elevator begins its descent.
“FUCK!”
The single expletive is a roar that echoes through the elevator, and I feel a pang of guilt at my treatment of Hunter.
He was right, after all. My faceisthe brand upon which DeMarco Holdings has elevated to new heights here in the United States.