Chapter 3 - The Maybach
"I don't have breakfast with guests," Clara said, maintaining her professional composure despite the heat radiating from him. "Especially not the owner of the hotel."
"It wasn't a request, Ms. Vance," Julian replied softly. "I will be waiting."
At exactly 2:00 AM, Clara’s shift ended. She changed out of her burgundy blazer and into her personal clothes—a thick trench coat over a simple black wrap dress that hugged her curves. She walked out the employee exit into the freezing Chicago wind, fully expecting Julian to have gotten bored and left.
Instead, a custom, armored black Maybach was idling by the curb. Victor Thorne, the terrifying security chief, stood by the rear door. He opened it in silence.
Clara hesitated on the pavement. "I can take the train."
"The boss said to make sure you get in, Ms. Vance," Victor rumbled. "Please don't make my job difficult."
Clara sighed and slid into the cavernous, leather-scented backseat. Julian was sitting in the shadows, pouring a glass of amber liquid from a crystal decanter. He looked exhausted, yet predatory, completely at ease in the moving fortress.
"You are a very difficult woman, Clara," Julian said as the car pulled away from the curb.
"I'm a hotel supervisor who does her job," Clara corrected, refusing to take the crystal glass he offered her. "Where are we going?"
"To a place where people don't lie to me," Julian replied. "Last night, you were the first person in ten years to tell me I was wrong. My board of directors wouldn't dare. My enemies would rather shoot me. But a night supervisor with rubber-soled shoes humiliated me in my own penthouse."
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"You humiliated yourself," Clara shot back.
Julian’s lips curved into a dangerous, genuine smile. "I know. And that is exactly why you are coming with me."
