He Waited She Wilted (Ottilie and Yorath) novel Chapter 9

Then he looked at Ottilie. "Come with me. You're changing."

He turned and walked away, his tone leaving zero room for argument.

Ottilie glanced down at her ruined blouse. Half her chest was exposed, completely inappropriate for a private dinner. She silently followed him into a private suite down the hall.

It was the hotel's premier presidential suite, running eight thousand dollars a night. He kept it reserved 365 days a year.

Men of his caliber rarely hosted casual associates in their actual homes; private off-the-record meetings happened in neutral luxury spaces like this.

The sprawling two-story penthouse was massive, boasting several expansive bedrooms. He led her straight up the marble stairs to the master suite. "Get dressed in there."

The moment she stepped inside, Soren appeared with the garments.

Yorath took them and brought them into the room himself.

A crisp white silk blouse and an elegant, ankle-length black skirt. It was an outfit she had left behind at his estate years ago.

She accepted the clothes quietly. "Thank you."

He stood perfectly still, making absolutely no move to leave the bedroom.

A knowing smile ghosted across her lips as she stepped behind the heavy privacy screen.

Standing in the center of the room, he watched her silhouette through the silk screen as she unbuttoned her ruined top and let it drop. The delicate, impossibly slender curve of her back was dangerously intoxicating.

Ottilie dressed quickly and efficiently, emerging fully clothed. "I'm ready, Mr. Fordham."

A loud knock echoed from the hallway.

"Yorath! Huxley's getting antsy. Is she decent yet?" Jevon called out.

Yorath turned and opened the door. "Let's go."

She followed the entourage down to the street, where the fleet of luxury cars was idling against the curb.

Jevon stood by Yorath's open door, his eyes locked intensely on Ottilie.

Huxley was standing by his own limo, waving aggressively. "Hurry up! Stop dragging your feet!"

She adjusted her skirt and calmly walked toward Huxley.

Huxley glared at Jevon for two heavy seconds before angrily stalking over to the far end of the table.

The rest of the heirs quickly scrambled into the remaining seats.

A twenty-course Michelin tasting menu had been pre-ordered.

Ottilie kept her eyes glued to her plate, eating quietly, making herself practically invisible.

Dessert was a delicate bowl of poached pears in spiced syrup. She loved it and carefully ladled herself a bowl, only for Huxley to bark, "Learn your place, sweetheart. Serve a bowl for every man at this table."

Back when she was desperately trying to fit in, she had pathetically played the role of eager waitress for his friends countless times. Now, she wanted absolutely nothing from Yorath, which meant she had zero reason to grovel.

"There is a full waitstaff standing outside the door," she replied evenly. "Ring the bell if you're helpless, Mr. Tarrant."

Huxley was already painfully aware he was the absolute lowest man on the totem pole in this room. He had tried to use her to assert some scrap of dominance, and she had just publicly humiliated him.

His face went purple with rage as he slammed his hands on the mahogany table and shot up. He pointed a trembling finger right at her face. "You ungrateful bitch! I tell you to jump, you say how high. Keep running that mouth, and I'll break you in half tonight."

Yorath slowly shifted his terrifying, icy gaze toward Huxley.