He Waited She Wilted (Ottilie and Yorath) novel Chapter 62

As soon as Ottilie stepped out, she saw Yorath and his entourage coming out of the elevator.

Separated by half the hallway, their eyes instantly locked.

Before anyone else could react, Yorath strode over to her.

"Meeting a friend?"

Standing with her back against the booth door, Ottilie pressed her lips together and stayed silent.

He let out a low chuckle and stepped closer, their bodies almost touching.

"I thought you liked Passage d'Enfer? Why do I smell cedarwood? Is Lachlan inside?"

A man's intuition was remarkably sharp, especially when it came to a rival.

Yorath had smelled that cologne once and committed it to memory.

Ottilie hadn't even touched Lachlan.

She had no idea how the scent had clung to her.

Before she could speak, Jevon Crawford and Elian Zouch brushed past her on either side and pushed the booth door open.

Yorath's friends hated Lachlan with a burning passion.

They didn't even bother pretending; they would gladly rip the man to shreds if they could.

Catching him red-handed gave them the perfect excuse for a bloodbath.

Yorath gently patted her shoulder. "Since the room is already paid for, let's not waste it. Come sit with us."

Following him inside, Ottilie saw Jevon and Elian standing there with their hands on their hips.

"No one's here!" Jevon turned to her. "Drinking alone, Ms. Sewell?"

A bottle of imported liquor and an empty crystal glass sat on the coffee table.

Jevon dropped onto the sofa and picked up the empty glass, inspecting it.

He mused casually, "Yamazaki 25. Almost fifty grand. Since when did you become such a big spender?"

Everyone in the room knew she was broke.

Even scraping together ten bucks for a cab was a struggle for her.

Taking the main seat, Yorath crossed his legs, his back perfectly straight and a faint smile playing on his lips.

He didn't say a word, letting the silence exert its own pressure.

His tailored suit didn't offer much extra room, so a quick pat of his jacket pockets told her it wasn't there.

Finding nothing, she moved her hands down to his trousers.

Feeling the outline of the lighter, she slipped her small hand inside.

Because of the way he was sitting with his legs crossed, they were incredibly close.

Combined with his imposing size, it made things tricky.

As careful as she tried to be, her hand accidentally brushed against him as she pulled the lighter out.

Their eyes met, snapping apart just as quickly.

Looking down at the lighter, she naturally noticed it.

Her gaze fell on the cheap, off-brand metal engraved with the letters "O.Y."

She struck the flame, shielded it with her hand, and held it up to light his cigarette.

Yorath smoked with an effortless elegance, looking devastatingly handsome.

It was a charm she had once been so infatuated with that she'd lost all sense of reality.