Mr Spencer (Mr. 2)

Fuck, Edward is here and Sheridan loves me.

This is one fucked up day.

I go to the bathroom, wash my hands and face, and take a seat back at my desk as I prepare myself. Once ready, I press the intercom. “Send my next client in, please.”

The door opens and a man in a navy suit comes into view. He’s tall, dark, and good looking. Not what I was expecting at all. I thought he would be fair like Charlotte. Anyway, whatever.

I stand and hold my hand out. “Hello, I’m Spencer Jones.”

He shakes my hand. His grip is strong as he holds direct eye contact.

“Mr Jones,” he says flatly with a forced smile. “I’m Edward Prescott.”

I gesture to my desk. “Please, take a seat.”

He sits and I fall into my chair at the same time. I’m not exactly sure why he’s here. I asked the guards not to tell him yet. Have the images of our kiss been released already? No… because for him to get here so quickly, he would have had to leave Vegas or wherever he was yesterday. The flight is fourteen hours. I’m just going to keep quiet until I know what he’s doing.

“How can I help you?” I ask calmly.

“Do you know who I am?”

My eyes hold his. “Should I?”

He raises an eyebrow, sits back in his chair, and cr

osses his legs. He has a distinct air about him, although I can’t quite put my finger on exactly what that is.

Is he arrogant or entitled? Or perhaps just misunderstood.

“I understand you met my sister recently,” he says.

“And your sister is…?” I ask as I play along.

“Charlotte Prescott.”

I smile. “That I did.”

Our eyes are locked.

“Where did you meet?” he asks sharply.

“I’m sorry, why are you asking me questions about Charlotte?” I interrupt.

He smirks. “Let’s stop fucking around and get straight to the point, shall we? I have reason to believe that you are sniffing around my sister.”

I chuckle. “I’m not sure what kind of dog you’re used to, but I can assure you I don’t sniff around.”

“That’s not what my friend Alexander York told me. You were kissing her hand and didn’t take your eyes off her all night long at a recent charity ball.”

Ah, he’s here because Alex told him about us. What else does he know?

“I wouldn’t be throwing the name Alexander York around and connecting him as a friend, if I were you?”

He glares at me.

“I think you and I both know what his character is like,” I add. “A reference of any sort from him doesn’t mean much.”

He raises an eyebrow in a silent dare. “No, why don’t you tell me?”