Niamh's heart skipped a beat when she saw Jonathan.
He had a presence that was impossible to ignore; just by standing there, he managed to silence both Lana and Julian completely.
But the way Jonathan looked at her, it was obvious he wasn't here by chance. He hadn't come to mingle—he'd come for her.
He didn't say a word at first, just stared at her with such intensity that she felt as if his eyes were needles, pricking her nerves and making her uneasy.
"You had someone dig into my background…"
Jonathan finally spoke, his voice cold and devoid of any emotion.
Before Niamh could admit or deny it, he grabbed her arm and pulled her up from her seat.
Lana and Julian weren't about to just sit there and watch Jonathan drag her away.
"I don't want an audience when I'm talking to my wife," Jonathan shot back, shutting them down with a single sentence.
The two friends fell silent, unable to argue. As Jonathan strode ahead, pulling Niamh along with him, Lana and Julian struggled to keep up and soon fell behind.
He didn't let go, not even as they entered the elevator. His grip was ironclad, and no amount of struggling could break it.
Inside, Jonathan pressed the button for the 77th floor. Niamh knew that was where the hotel suites were.
She didn't ask what he wanted or where they were going. She doubted he'd answer anyway, and there was no point in wasting her breath.
It took a while for the elevator to reach the top floor. Jonathan swiped a keycard, opened the door, and all but pushed Niamh inside.
The suite was enormous—easily the most luxurious room in the Michelin Three Keys Hotel, the kind reserved for presidents and celebrities.
As soon as she stepped inside, Niamh sneezed. Jonathan's voice came from behind her.
"FY has notoriously high standards for their staff. How did you manage to get hired?"
She turned her head away, avoiding his scrutinizing gaze.
"I got the job the usual way. Applied, interviewed, got accepted."
Jonathan let out a short, humorless laugh.
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