He looked at me, then down at Desmond. Being a shifter himself, Melvin was well aware of who Lucas was, and by extension what that made me. In spite of the whole mess of my wedding day, technically I still had all the wife rights given to a queen. I didn’t particularly want them, but sometimes they did come in handy.
“You know where he lives.”
“I’m afraid I’ve come straight from the airport and don’t have my card.” The elevator up to Lucas’s three-story penthouse worked on a keycard system, with each person choosing a code unique to their card.
My card was buried in the bottom of a drawer somewhere, having lost its regular place in my wallet. I’d considered cutting it up, but like a shopping addict with an emergency AMEX, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. There might come a time—like now—when I’d need it.
Too bad I hadn’t had that foresight when packing for France.
Melvin gave an exaggerated sigh, emphasizing how this would be the worst part of his whole evening. He picked up the phone and—honest to God—hit a big red button at the top. I imagined a red phone in Lucas’s office lighting up beneath a Plexiglas dome.
“Sorry to bother you, sir.” He paused and nodded. “Yes, I understand. Yes, sir, but I think this is perhaps worth interrupting you for.” He glared at me, evidently unable to understand what it was Lucas found worthwhile in me. “No, I don’t presume to know the value of your time.”
Good to know Lucas was a douche to everyone and not just me.
I crooked my fingers towards him, suggesting he pass me the phone. Melvin hesitated, but only briefly. I don’t think he wanted to spend any more of his evening being berated by a werewolf king. He placed the handset in my palm.
“Lucas.” I cut off the stern lecture he was in the process of giving.
“Secret?”
“I’m downstairs, and I don’t have my card.”
“You’re downstairs?” I might as well have told him the call is coming from inside your house by the stunned way he was behaving.
“I need your help.”
He must have really needed to collect his thoughts because the silence lasted longer than was polite on a phone call.
“You need my help.”
“Yes, and not with having my words repeated back to me, though you’re doing a bang-up job.”
“I’ll send Dominick down, hold on.”
I didn’t warrant a visit from His Royal Assholeness himself, how lovely. But when had I ever? The first night I’d come to Lucas’s hotel, he’d sent Desmond to collect me. He never did the dirty work himself.
Handing the phone back to Melvin, I thanked him and moved to wait by the elevator. A minute later it chimed, and a short, muscular man with his blond hair shaved on the sides and slicked back on the top stepped out.
“Nice haircut, Dom.”
“Thanks, lady. I took a picture of Justin Timberlake to the stylist. He got a bit carried away on the sides, but hey, Cas thinks it’s sexy.”
“That’s all that matters, right?”
Desmond, who had been sitting next to the desk, plodded over and stood between his brother and me.
“Jesus,” Dominick exclaimed.
“Careful, he’s grumpy.” I showed him my hand, the bite marks now mostly healed. “He’s mad at me for keeping him caged up the whole way home.”
“What happened?”
“Long story, and I only want to tell it once. Can we go see King Dipshit, please?”
Dominick, Lucas’s personal bodyguard, leveled me with a warning glare. “Play nice.”
“I promise I won’t kick him.”