“Come on, love,” Harry says, his voice low like it’s just for me. “Why don’t you come back with me? We can leave these lads to their dinner. I’ve got a Mercedes parked outside and a nice bottle of champagne back in my dorm. I’d love to see what you can do with it.”
“I-I don’t want to,” I stammer, trying to move away from his arm. But the other direction is towards the wall, and I’m basically trapped.
I have no idea how I’m going to get out of this. I don’t know where to go or what to do.
I just have to pray that someone comes – before Harry does something I can’t get away from.
Chapter Eight
Oz
I’m coming back when I see them. A bunch of idiots – probably from Eton or some similar kind of school, all of them yammering around together because their Daddies own half of Westminster. Or St. Moritz. I’ve known my fair share of idiots like that, both when I was a student myself and since then, in my adult life. They tend to be rude, loud, self-important, and absolutely insufferable.
But none of that is what triggers me to grit my teeth when I come out of the door and see them.
What triggers me is the fact that one of them appears to be trying to put his arm around Gabby – and I can see just how much she doesn’t like it.
“Excuse me,” I say loudly, striding over to them. “Who the hell are you?”
The group looks at me with laughing, mocking faces. I can see immediately that they’ve all had too much to drink, and it isn’t even that late in the evening. They’re dressed in full tails, which means they’re probably settling in for a night of it. Probably out on one of those ‘legendary’ nights that involves smashing up good establishments and then paying off the owners later on with Daddy’s money.
Pathetic.
“Alright, Grandad?” the one with his arm around Gabby’s chair says. I can see the relief and hope shimmer in her eyes at seeing me. “What’s it to you?”
I choose to ignore this comment, instead of focusing on what needs to be done. “Get back to your own table, boy,” I order him. “Or better yet, leave. This is a good restaurant. The doorman should have known better than to let you in, half-cut already.”
He sneers back at me. “The doorman let me in because he knows who I am,” he says. His group of friends don’t say much to back him up, but then again, they aren’t dispersing either. In fact, they’re just laughing along, chortling like kids, like they’re being naughty and having fun while the headteacher tries to tell them off.
They don’t know who they’re up against here.
“The doorman can’t possibly know who you are, because you aren’t anyone yet,” I snort. “What are you? Twelve years old?”
“I’m twenty,” he says, reddening slightly in the face. “And what are you? Seventy-two?”
“Bored,” I say. “Specifically, of you. Get back to your table and stop being such a brat. People come here to eat, not to have to put up with you.”
The waiter, beside me, is looking increasingly flustered, I can’t help but notice. He probably thinks we’re going to come to blows. I haven’t gathered enough evidence yet to suggest that he’s wrong, but I do know one thing. I’m going to be a lot more civilized about it than these oiks would be. And I can end this with one blow, rather than having to drag it out.
“No,” he says. “You know what? I don’t think you must be anyone, yourself. Because if you were, you’d know who I am, and you’d know not to mess with me.”
I almost roll my eyes at him. At least while he’s being confrontational with me, he’s gradually turning more and more in my direction – which is pulling him further and further away from Gabby. Not by much, but by enough to make a difference. She still looks terrified, though, which is making my blood boil more and more with each passing moment.
“Is that so?” is all I say, shaking my head at him to let him know how ridiculous I think he is. This child. He doesn’t know what he’s doing.
“One word to my father, and you’d be in all kinds of trouble,” he says, slyly.
“I very much doubt that,” I tell him.
“Oh, you will be,” he says, doubling down on his threat. “You’ll be in a world of trouble. People don’t like to mess with the son of Lord Almsely. You’ve heard of him, haven’t you?”
Now I know I’m in the clear. For all his posturing, his arrogance, he really doesn’t have a clue.
“It’s incredibly crass to drop a ‘don’t you know who I am.’ Your father should have taught you better manners somewhere along the way.” I roll my shoulders slightly, getting ready for the inevitable. “And hiding behind your Daddy isn’t the manliest way to impress a lady, either. Why don’t you stand on your own two feet, boy?”