Bending Steele

Chapter Fifty-Four

Adam listened to Mr. Mokuami drone on and on about the points on the blueprints he would like have reworked for the new hotel design in Tokyo. One of which included a massive karaoke bar which would boast floor to ceiling, high-tech touch screens, hologram projections, and state-of-the-art surround sound systems catering to a select and exclusive clientele. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes as the beginnings of a headache formed. The desire to badly sing corny songs to instrumental music pumped at octaves loud enough to make your ears bleed was completely lost on him, but if this was what it took to build his crowning jewel in Tokyo...then he would concede to Mr. Mokuami's demands. But, he was absolutely putting his foot down on the whole private Geisha room idea. The last thing he needed was the political firestorm something like that could cause for Steele Industries.

The commotion over by the elevator pulled his attention away from the phone and he watched as Abigail gave the closing doors a confused frown. Glancing down at the keypad sitting next to him still displaying the feed from the elevator cameras, he observed the deliveryman pacing nervously as it descended to the lobby. With a quick swipe of his fingers, he zoomed in on the man's face and took a couple of still shots before zooming back out and clicking a few more. If the man had gotten past the security check points he had installed a week ago, there was a good possibility he was being overly paranoid. To gain clearance to the penthouse, everyone underwent a thorough search by his men before being allowed access to the elevator. But, due to things being what they were, he would rather err on the side of caution than to take any chances with Abigail's safety. Anything other than constant vigilance could be disastrous.

"For now you have my word, Mr. Mokuami," Adam said in fluent Japanese, effectively cutting the man off. "I will have new designs drawn up to your specifications and we will discuss this again at a later date." Without giving him a chance to respond, he cancelled the call. Scrolling through his contacts in search of the architect's number, his eyes followed Abigail as she carried a large, thin, white box to the bar and set it on top of the bar counter. A frown crept across his forehead when he realized it appeared to be a floral box. He had sent enough roses in his lifetime to recognize it. Unbridled jealousy coursed through his system and his jaw tightened. Who the hell would be sending her flowers, he wondered as she plucked the card off from the top of the box.

The distressed sound of her sharp intake of breath had him dropping his phone, leaping off the couch and moving swiftly to her side. The card she held fluttered in her trembling hands.

"Abigail? What is it?" The paleness of her face gave him cause for alarm. She was whiter than the envelope she held and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders in fear she would faint. When she continued to only stare at the paper in her hand, he looked down and cursed. Elizabeth Swanson was written in a bold script across the front. "Fuck," he growled, plowing his free hand through his hair as his headache became reality.

Guiding her to a stool, he coaxed her to sit down and went to go fetch a bottle of water out of the mini fridge. Cracking it open, he slid it in front of her. Plucking the paper up by its edges from her shaky grasp, he tossed it down on the counter. "Drink," he ordered, his temper and worry making his voice come out sharper than he intended.

For once though, she didn't argue. Picking up the bottle, she gulped down half of it before she finally met his eyes. This time, she seemed more focused and two small dots of a rosy hue began to fill in the pale void of her cheeks. Adam breathed a sigh of relief. "Don't touch it again," he said, stalking over to the couch to pick up his cellphone.

"Why?" Her eyes widened and she looked down at her hands. "Do you think there might be something on it?"

Adam jerked to a halt. "I was thinking more along the lines of fingerprints, but...shit...I don't know. The bastard is fucking crazy." He turned to her, trying to keep his face calm and not show the sudden fear running rampant inside him. "Go wash your hands, baby. I'm going to call Erich."