Nathan had booked the hotel’s most elaborate suite. He didn’t keep a room here, like at The Gotham and one or two other boutique hotels around the city, but they knew who he was and the discretion he demanded. Everybody did.
David had the good grace to look thoroughly chastened as he stood. “Of course, Mr. Bishop. Can I send anything up?” Nathan’s gaze never wavered from the now obsequious receptionist, but his hand trembled against Emily’s back. “Two cheeseburgers, fries, milkshakes. From Shake Shack. Is the bar stocked?”
“Yes, sir, fully.”
“Good. That’s all.”
Nathan strolled down the hall with Emily in tow as if this were just another night, but his radar was up. The small, nearly undetectable, earpiece was the only indication that things weren’t as they seemed. Nathan walked slowly but with purpose toward the elevator and swiped his card for penthouse access. The gleaming brass doors swished open, and they walked inside like any chic Manhattan couple heading to their luxury accommodations after a grueling day of shopping and pedicures—minus the dirty clothes, bleeding feet, and stitches. Nathan seemed to need a moment to compose himself; his jaw was locked, and his hands were trembling. He glanced at the security camera in the ceiling and clocked the floor numbers as they lit and extinguished. He probably hated the kill box of an elevator as much as she did. At the top floor, they moved quickly down the hall.
“Nathan.”
“In a moment. Let’s get you secure.”
“I found their tracker. I removed it.”
“You did?”
“At Caroline’s yoga studio. I sent it off with another member. I imagine it’s at a West Village townhouse by now.”
He shot her a look of pure lust.
“That turns you on?”
“Add it to an ever-growing list.”
At the far end of the hall, a service elevator sounded its arrival. Nathan didn’t tense so she didn’t either. The doors groaned apart and two suited men stepped out. Nathan extended his hand.
“Harris, good to see you, man. Thanks for this.” The whiskey-eyed man’s lips quirked.
“Hey, I’ll babysit you in a penthouse any day, North. Beats the hell out of Chiang Mai.”
Nathan grunted in agreement and extended his hand to the smaller, at six feet, Middle Eastern man.
“Assam, good to see you.”
“Just once could you give me a call when you’re trolling for trim at a club? Does it always have to be this shit?” Assam gave him a toothpaste commercial smile.
Nathan shifted awkwardly, and Emily stuck her head out from behind him. “He’s done trolling for the night.”
“Oh shit... shoot. Sorry.” Assam extended his hand while Harris chuckled and added, “Fifteen languages and six dialects, and he still puts his foot in it. You must be Emily. I’m Harris Mann. And this smooth talker is Assam Brudi.”
“Yes, Emily. Hi.”
“Also, the reason my trolling days are over.”
Assam gripped her hand with both of his. “I can see why.”