You call this fate?

Chapter 28

Mr. Rodwell's countenance was not one that showed emotions very easily, not because his visage was somehow insensitive, but because he had trained himself in such a way. But now, after hearing what Conrad had said, his skin belied its instilled nature. A dark flush crept slowly up his cheeks, and his jaws were clenched together so hard I had a feeling that that was the only thing holding him together at the moment.

Christopher, on the other hand, did not seem to have given hiding his emotions even a second's thought. The moment 'your brother' left Conrad's lips, he slammed his fist down on the kitchen island hard enough to rattle a bowl of fruit on top. "What the hell does he want?" he exclaimed, gnashing his teeth together like a total savage.

"Conrad," Mr. Rodwell's voice was not as high strung and loud as Christopher's, but there was some element in it that usually wasn't there. "What do you mean he's there? What is he doing there, exactly?"

"Urm... well, Michelle mustn't have see-"

"What's he doing, Conrad?" His tone screamed don't try my patience.

"It seems, sir, that he's having dinner," Conrad told him, flushing.

Mr. Rodwell didn't appear to know what exactly he was required to say to that. Then he gave a resigned nod. "Is there anything else you need to tell me?"

"No, sir. That's all we have now." The possibility of escape was making his eyes sparkled like that of a retard. Where did Mr. Rodwell find this man?

"Is there someone at Zayn's place right now?"

"Yes, sir. Zachary's team is combing through his hotel suite as we speak. You will be notified immediately if they find anything."

"Any complications you want to tell me about?"

Conrad swallowed delicately. "No sir."

"Are we any closer to infiltrating Stories?"

Conrad had to clear his throat. "No sir. The security is tighter than we had anticipated. Our attempts at getting in are failing."

"You know, Conrad, I do not tolerate inefficiency."

Conrad was as pale as a sheet by now. "I am well aware of that, sir. We are doing our best."

"Please do something better than your best, Conrad. I want results, not promises."

The little man straightened his neck, sweat popping like little dew drops on his forehead. "Yes, sir. You will have them, sir."

"Good. Now please leave. Keep a watch on Frank and keep me reported as to all his moves."

"Would you like us to follow him when he leaves, sir?"

Mr. Rodwell's eyebrows dropped dramatically. "If you need to ask that, Conrad, perhaps it's time I send out advertisements again."

"N-no, sir. Of course I understand. Your orders will be followed to the letter."

"See that they are. Now go."

In his rush to leave, Conrad tripped over five non-existent bumps on the carpet. By the time he finally reached the elevator and it dinged open, his face was as red as a fresh tomato, sweat rolled down his temples and his shirt was stained with sweat.

When the door finally closed on his face, Christopher thumped his fist against the counter again. "What in the name of hell does he want? A charity dinner?" He looked around at all of us, wanted to make sure even we found this as ludicrous as he did. "Why would he attend a charity dinner? And who would invite him in the first place? Harrison's a senator. He won't want to be seen associated with someone such as him!"