Chapter 120

The proposition strikes me like a slap to the face. Never in my wildest dreams, in all of my dealings with Mr. George in the past, would I have considered that he would corner me in a women’s restroom and try to blackmail me for sex, yet here we are.

“I’m not interested,” I say firmly. “I never will be interested.”

Mr. George’s hungry expression twists into one of viciousness and rage. “You should not turn me down, Esther. Do you want that photo released? You think Miles would be pleased if your inaction costs him the presidency.”

The use of Miles’s name spikes even more anger inside of me. Mr. George clearly knows nothing about Miles.

Miles values his ambition, yes, but if he knew what Mr. George wanted in exchange for keeping those photos quiet, Miles would not be happy. He might even throw away his own career just to protect me from this moment right here, right now.

“Miles is a good man,” I say. “He would never consent to this behavior.”

Mr. George’s face turns red. Suddenly, he reaches up and grabs onto my upper arms. “You will give me what I want!”

Without thinking, I slap him across the face.

Eyes wide, he doesn’t move for a moment. He acts like a man who has never been hit in his entire life, not even in discipline from his parents.

Taking advantage of this shock, I snap my arms outward, knocking his hands off of me. Then, while he still seems confused, I run toward the door.

“Esther!” he calls, but it’s too late. I rush into the hallway and toward the exit.

I’m not returning to the party. I’ll find some excuse to give Kimberly.

With Mr. George still there, I have to protect myself first and foremost. Once I’m safely in my car in the parking lot, then I begin to relax as much as I can. For the most part, I’m still rattled.

Lifting my phone with shaking hands, I open my contacts. My first thought as ever when I need comfort, is to call Miles. I even find his name and press it.

When the contact opens, I realize my mistake. We aren’t talking right now. Our sexual relationship is over. Whatever friendship we might have been blossoming feels uncertain.

If I tell him what happened, he’d likely go for Mr. George’s head.

Backing out of that contact, I continue to scroll through my phone. I could talk to Cynthia about this. She’s had experience with unwelcome propositions, but she doesn’t really know Mr. George. She definitely doesn’t know the Whisperers. And I don’t want to pull her down into this underbelly.

That leaves a more recent friend… Someone who has said he would be here for me whenever I need.

Hugo.

Finding his contact, I call him.

“Esther? Are you at the country club? What’s happened?” he asks.

“Hugo,” I reply. “Can we meet and talk?”

My voice trembles. He must hear it.

“Okay,” he says. “I have a favorite place. We can meet there for drinks.”

After driving to the bar and finding a parking spot, I enter to find Hugo already waiting for me at one of the tables. Just like in the previous restaurant, Hugo has chosen a table in the back corner of the bar, far away from foot traffic of the other patrons.

He waves to me as I enter. Quickly, I make my way to his table and sit. He’s already ordered me a glass of white wine. Appreciative, I take a deep sip.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he says. “It sounded like you needed it.”

That’s an understatement. As I drink and try to calm down, Hugo orders us bruschetta as an appetizer. When the waiter steps away, Hugo says, “Whenever you are ready to talk about it…”

“Mr. George tried to make a pass at me,” I say. “He cornered me in the bathroom, and…”

Hugo freezes.

“Ever since I arrived to the event, both Georges treated me like their personal servant. When I tried to tell them I was only there as a reporter, they brought up… the photo.”

Hugo places his elbows on the table. Hands together, he laces his fingers.

“Did Mr. George attempt to coerce you for sex by using the photo?” Hugo asks.

I nod.

He curses under his breath. “Did you get away unharmed?”

“I slapped him and ran. But he was so angry… I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

Hugo leans back in his chair. “This organization. They are powerful, yes. Too powerful, some might say. But the members are not gods, nor are they kings. Nor does any one member have power over the others. It’s a collective in how they act. For Mr. George to try to blackmail you like this is unconscionable.”

“What could I do but run?” I ask him as I take another deep sip of my wine.

“You shouldn’t have even needed to do that,” Hugo says. His features harden, making his expression even more stern and severe than usual. “You should have never been made to feel cornered in this way.”

I shrug helplessly. What happened, happened, regardless of what was supposed to happen or what was allowed within the Whisperers own order.

“They have ways of policing themselves,” Hugo says. Leaning forward again, he holds my gaze with his own. His eyes are fierce, his determination strong. “I will personally ensure that Mr. George understands the misstep he has made here.”

His hands grip onto each other so hard that his knuckles turn white.

Hugo isn’t the most expressive man I’ve ever encountered, but he is doing little to hide his anger here. Though Hugo is also not a loud man. His anger manifests like an icy deep freeze. He’s cool, calculating. His eyes shift as he works to formulate a plan.

Not for the first time, I’m glad he is on my side. Whatever he is planning, it’s likely to be concise and ruthless.

The bruschetta comes and with Hugo’s reassurances, I’m able to take a few bites. For a time, we enjoy each other’s company. Then, I excuse myself to go to the bathroom.

The bathroom is on the other side of the bar, so I walk around. The bar has filled up some since I first arrived, though I don’t recognize anyone here. They seem to be regulars, laughing and joking with each other and the bartender. It’s a nice atmosphere, I can see why Hugo likes this place.

I push through the bathroom door and stop.

Amber is standing at the sink. “Took you long enough,” she grumbles and turns to face me.

“What are you talking about?” I ask.

“I saw you and Hugo at the other side of the place. I know you looked over at me,” Amber says. “I gestured to the bathroom. How long were you going to make me wait?”

“I didn’t see you,” I say. “I didn’t look. And even if I did, you shouldn’t try to talk to me at all. Have you forgotten the restraining order? You are supposed to stay away from me.”

Amber scoffs. “Like I care about some flimsy piece of paper.”