“Stay with me here. I might need you to bail me out. Can you handle that?”
“Pfft, of course I can. But they aren’t going to arrest you for beating Rozovsky to a pulp,” she said, rolling her eyes again. “Throw you a parade, maybe. But definitely not throw you in the slammer.”
She tried to hand it back to me. “Just in case. Hang onto it, okay?”
“Fine,” she huffed and stuffed it into her purse. Her eyes narrowed on mine. “I’ll give it back to you at home.”
“Keep it.”
“For how long?”
“Forever.”
Her head fell forward for a second before she gazed back up at me. “I’m not keeping your credit card forever.”
I cleared my throat and tightened my tie. “It’s got your name on it. Guess that means it’s yours.”
“You’re beginning to make me regret letting you seduce me in an elevator.”
I chuckled and reminded her, “You stripped! I was powerless.”
“My word against yours, Moreau. Anyway, we should probably start the elevator back up before they call in the fire department.”
We both stood an acceptable distance away from each other before I released the red button, and the elevator jolted once before it began its descent. When the doors opened, we were greeted by several firefighters. “Too late,” I whispered into her ear, making her giggle.
After we discussedthe imaginary issues with the elevator suddenly stalling between floors, Geneviève and I hurried toward the doors.
Unfortunately, the press were waiting.
“Beau, are you suspended for the rest of the series? When can you come back?” someone asked as I dodged the lights and cameras, pulling Geneviève close behind me. I had no comment for any of them. Mostly because I had no idea what the committee would decide to do with me.
They could fine me or suspend.
Or both.
Or worse.
I likely wouldn’t have any real idea what was going on until tomorrow at the earliest.
Unless there were cops out here waiting for me, that is.
But, Geneviève was right. That almost never happened.
Still, it was enough of a possibility that I’d gone to my bank today and picked up a credit card for her. She should have one anyway. She’d bought so much for the boys and refused to let me pay her back.
Now, she’d have her own card to pay for shit.
If only I could find a way to convince her to use it.
Oh well, one battle at a time.
We managed to swim through the fray of reporters and get to the parking lot where I’d left my Jeep. I got out my keys and clicked off the alarm, making it beep as the lights flashed. Geneviève veered off to the passenger side, while I walked around to the driver’s side.
Just as I was reaching for the door, I heard my name called. “Moreau, you fucker,” Rozovsky said, bashing his fist into the hood of the Jeep.
I turned to Geneviève and yelled, “Get the fuck out of here!” I saw her hesitate, but all I could do was hope she listened to me.
Rozovsky’s eyes looked crazy.