Candyman

Chapter 12 - Rainy Day

When you didn't immediately respond, mostly from shock, he backtracked, "I just don't feel like our conversation was finished. Come up and have a drink," and he gave you that sly smile.

It certainly had felt like the conversation was over, being that the two of you drove back to the hotel in comfortable silence. You breathed a small sigh of relief but softly shook your head, "Thank you, Bucky, but I'm a bit tired. It's been a long day."

"Come on, just come on up," he insisted, "No one wants to drink alone."

"I wouldn't have a drink anyway," you retorted, a little confused as to his insistence.

The smile slipped from his lips as he turned them down, his eyes steely cold. "Come upstairs or I'll call Steve and tell him that you left to go back home as soon as we touched down in Berlin."

Your breath caught in your throat, the words hitting your brain like so many bullets, just as you had dreamed. "You wouldn't dare," slipped from your lips, the words shaky but determined.

He used the pad of his thumb to wipe something away from the corner of his lip, his head turning elsewhere but he still fully addressed you, "You let it slip that you hadn't talked to him yet since you left this afternoon, so he has no idea where you are."

"But he could call the hotel and confirm that I checked in..." you thought out loud.

"That doesn't mean that you didn't catch a cab and got the next flight out right after..." he reasoned with a casual coolness that had little indication of his attempt at extortion, "It would be a perfect coverup and you're a smart enough girl to make a plan like that."

Everything in you was screaming and yet the world was silent around you. You wanted to bolt, to slip out the other door, take off the shoes, and run as fast as you could back to your hotel. To pack what you could and actually take a cab to the airport and go back to London, find Steve and tell him everything, tell him how horrible his friend? Employee? Partner? Was.

But as the screaming inside of you died down, you were left with the one phrase that had permeated the entire evening, like rain on your wedding day.

He needs to be kept happy.

You thought you had done that job, thought that the night had gone exceedingly well and that everyone could report tomorrow of the success. Guess that wasn't going to happen.

"What'll it be, doll? Me or your Golden Boy, the guy who sold you out?"

Bastard. You knew it in your gut that you couldn't trust the asshole but you tried, you tried so hard to believe that he had positive intent. He designed it all the moment he laid eyes on you at Klaue's party; the whole apology, the whole ruse of "getting to know each other, for Steve's sake" was all part of a plan to get to this moment right here. He had manipulated everyone, including you.

"I don't have all fucking night."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes but you refused to fucking cry in front of the son of a bitch. It wasn't sadness, you didn't pity yourself. It was frustration and anger, the fact that the central theme of dinner had now woefully soaked through to everything else. You didn't have the burden of choice.

With a deep breath, you steadied your fight or flight response and reluctantly gave him your hand to help you out of the car.

"Good girl..." he purred and the sound made your skin crawl, "See, at least with me you know that I actually give a shit about you."

"Please don't call me that," you insisted as he slapped the top of the car, allowing the driver to pull away.

He didn't respond as the two of you made your way through the lobby. It looked to be a very fine hotel, a bit more vintage European with the red and cream marble floors and the bright cherry wood pillars than Steve's ultramodern tastes, but in the same caliber. At this time of night, the lobby was all but abandoned, however, there was still a good amount of people checking out the bar. Fishing his keycard from his wallet, the elevator allowed the two of you access and it quickly whisked you up to nearly the top floor.