Page 43 of The Voicemail

Pinpointed his entry. He came in the service door at 8:14 under temp credentials. Authorized by C. Bell.

My eyes go straight to Claire. She’s leaning against the bar, fanning herself with one of the programs, looking bored out of her mind. Then her gaze meets mine. She blushes and smiles, like she takes my attention for flirtation. If only she knew.

I cross to her slowly, and her eyes go wide. By the time I reach her, she’s pulled her composure back together, but only just.

“You’re Elena’s friend, right?” she asks breathlessly. “I saw you here with her the other day.”

I nod and flag down the bartender, ordering a whiskey neat while I size her up out of the corner of my eye. Her body is already turned toward me and she’s blushing.

“Remind me your name,” I say smoothly.

“Claire,” she answers immediately. “I basically run this place.”

“Is that so?” I ask, pretending to be interested. “What do you do, specifically?”

She gestures vaguely, as if to say everything.

“What don’t I do?” she giggles. “I keep all the wheels turning.”

“Do you provide all the relevant credentials to the waitstaff?” I ask her directly.

She frowns slightly. “I mean, yeah,” she answers, a bit deflated. “Boring stuff like that for sure, but that isn’t all I’m capable of. I could show you, if you’d like.”

Her last words come out in a purr she clearly thinks is seductive.

“That’s quite all right.” I smile tightly as the bartender hands me my drink. “I’m set.”

She frowns even deeper as I turn away from her. I pull out my phone and text Luca.

Look into Claire. I want a full background.

Three dots come up as he types back, but I don’t get to read his response because Mr. Bellamy nearly slams into me.

“I thought that was you, Russo,” he says with a friendly smile that’s barely containing his rage. “How are you finding the evening?”

“I’m finding the security to be a little lax, if I’m being honest,” I tell him.

“And I’m finding your interference to be a little too obvious.”

I look around to confirm that none of the guests seem at all bothered by my added measures. The event is just as seamless as it was before I started the lockdown protocol. None of the guests are remotely aware that anything is amiss.

“Interesting that you notice when no one else seems to,” I answer tightly.

“I know how the night should be going, and I can clearly see that isn’t the reality. Your extra measures are interfering with my event. That wasn’t part of our deal.”

“Our deal is that I continue my very generous contributions to your gallery and you don’t get in my way,” I remind him. “Your employee has been stalked and harassed for months in this very building, and you chose not to believe her. That was your mistake. It isn’t going to be mine.”

“Mr. Russo⁠—”

“If you’d like me to pull my funding and leak to the press how poorly you treat your employees, I’d be happy to oblige. It would be your head, not mine.”

“That isn’t⁠—”

“Great,” I cut him off. “So we’re agreed. I’ll continue to take the measures needed to keep Ms. Hart safe, and you’ll continue to let me. Enjoy your night, Julian.”

I leave him standing there before he can get another word out. I’ve no interest in anything he has to say. He’s a shady bastard, and I’ve got my eyes on him now. He knows it, too. It’s why he’s so insistent I stay out of his business. He’s probably shitting himself with me poking around while Bianchi runs his front. There’s a certain pleasure in watching him flounder.

“What was that about?” Elena demands, stepping into my space.