Lucy Monroe - Satisfaction Guaranteed

Ethan tugged Beth out the door and down the stairs. “I’m where I need to be. Come on, Sunshine.”

Beth let Ethan pull her along until they went out the French doors and met up with the group on the back patio. Like the rest of the house, it was slightly pretentious with huge cement lions guarding each of the far corners and the furniture wrought iron cast to look like a formal dining set complete with damask cushions and marble tabletop.

Prescott’s ego reverberated in everything that represented him.

She pulled away from Ethan’s hold just as her pseudoboss looked at them. Satisfaction flashed in his eyes and he beckoned her to him. She went, her mind whirling with the single question that she could not dismiss. Had Ethan been kissing the beautiful and exotic Celine Fournier?

Prescott smiled at her. “I was just explaining the difficulties my horticulturalist has faced in growing roses in the salty climate near the ocean.”

“I’m afraid I’m not much of a gardener.”

“Ah, but a lovely woman is not required to know how to grow flowers, only enjoy them when they are offered in homage.”

“Are you going to offer my Beth some blooms from your garden?” Ethan asked, his tone deriding. “How very cliché.”

Prescott’s mouth tightened. “Alas, it is fall and the roses are not in bloom, but perhaps next summer she will enjoy that particular garden’s delights. I have found that most women do not find flowers cliché at all.”

“I love roses, especially long-stemmed ones,” one of the women in the party offered.

“Don’t I know it?” Her date’s accent was Canadian. “It costs me a fortune to keep you supplied the way you like.”

She wound her arm through his and smiled up at him. “I’m worth it though, aren’t I?”

Beth didn’t hear the man’s reply because he whispered it, but whatever he said made the woman laugh.

One of the others, a dark, stocky man with an accent that could have been Russian or Ukrainian, she wasn’t sure which, asked, “If the roses are not in bloom, what have you brought us out here to see?”

Once again, Prescott’s mouth flattened into a thin line of annoyance, but he quickly smiled, and Beth thought he would have made a particularly adept politician. “The maze is always of interest to my first-time guests. Perhaps you will feel the same.”

The stocky man shrugged. “Let us see.”

Just then, Prescott’s date for the evening came out of the house with the remaining guests, including Mr. Bernard and his girlfriend. “I’ve convinced the rest of the party to join us in the maze, Arthur. Isn’t that lovely?”

“Yes. Quite lovely, my dear.” Prescott led the entire group across the perfectly manicured lawn to a box hedge maze that easily stood eight feet high. “It is amusing to enter by twos at timed intervals. Everyone will be given twenty minutes to find the center, at which point the pathway that leads to the center will glow amber while the rest of the lighting within the maze will remain white. We shall all meet at the center and I will lead you out afterward.”

A couple of the guests made faces at the proposal, but no one disagreed with the plan.

Ethan once again maneuvered himself beside Beth and took her hand. “This should be fun, honey.”

“I thought we could trade partners for the exercise,” Prescott said.

“Since you know the way to the center and your date probably does, what would be the point in that?”

“We will both refrain from giving hints. It will pit your wits against that of your girlfriend, Mr. Grange.”

Ethan laughed and shook his head. “Not a chance. We both know Beth has a better sense of direction than I do. I’m relying on her to get me through the maze as it is.”

“Beth, you must convince your boyfriend to agree.” There was a core of steel in Prescott’s tone, a subtle warning not lost on Beth.

Her boss was attempting to order her to do this. She wasn’t sure if he wanted her to believe her job might be on the line if she refused, but he definitely wanted his way.

Before Beth could answer though, Ethan’s arm settled around her, his hand curving to her waist and pulling her in tight against him. “I’m not a man who lets my woman tell me what to do, Mr. Prescott. Beth will be going in with me.”

There wasn’t anything subtle about the threat in Ethan’s voice and it was directed right at Prescott. It fit his role well and Beth saw the wisdom her dad and Ethan had shown in creating this particular type of role for her partner. Prescott might get annoyed, but after the way Ethan had reacted to being told he could not escort her right to the door for her interview and the number of calls he made to her during work hours, his reaction now would not be suspect in the least.

They were the third couple into the maze. Ethan immediately started leading her away from the rustle of movement and low voices of the other guests.

Beth pulled on his arm. “I thought I was going to take the lead,” she whispered.

He shook his head once, making no sound as he took turns as if he knew exactly where he was going. A minute later, he pulled her to a stop and just listened.

Two voices came from the other side of the hedge. Both spoke low, but the words were understandable.

“I do not know why you bothered to come. He’s not going to sell the information to your people. His country is at war with yours.” It was the stocky Russian/Ukrainian.

“Men like Prescott have no country. He cares only for the number of zeroes after the dollar sign and we are prepared to offer many.” The man spoke with the cultured tones of the English, but Beth guessed he was the Arab who had sat near Ethan during dinner.

She’d spoken only briefly to him, an introduction from Prescott before dinner, but noticed the man’s impeccable accent at the time.

“There are things besides money a man like Prescott craves.” The dark promise in the Russian/Ukrainian’s voice made Beth’s stomach clench.

Somehow, she did not think the man was talking about power or prominence.

“There, too, you will fall short of what our people can offer,” the Arab said, showing he knew exactly what the other man was referring to.

Or he was bluffing. It didn’t matter which. Something about the conversation was making Beth nauseous.

“You would like to think so, I am sure.”

“Rudi, will you stop talking business and help me find the center of the maze?” a feminine voice whined from farther away.

The Arab’s companion was silent until the other couple moved on. “You risk a great deal talking with that man,” she said in a voice both cold and hard.

“I risk nothing.”

“You have no way of knowing which guests are buyers like we are and which are blinds he has planted to gain information, or play his little power games with.”

“The stupid Russian spoke to me first.”

“If he is here, he is not stupid and his speaking first is no guarantee he is not working for Prescott as a spy.”

“Do not correct me.”

“Do not be tedious. I give correction when it is needed. We both benefit if your people win the bid, but we both lose if you muck the deal.” The woman’s voice was definitely American and while she had seemed quiet during dinner and before, she was obviously no brainless bedmate brought along to even out numbers.

“You have no more loyalty to your country than Prescott.”

“And you have a brain the size of a pea if you think you are safe in continuing to bait me, but I guess that means we both have our little deficiencies we must learn to live with.”

Ethan stiffened beside Beth, but made no noise.

With a sound of disgust, the man moved off.

“Pig,” the woman hissed under her breath before following him, her tread so quiet, Beth barely heard her move.