Darren glanced toward Claire.
“She asked you to leave?”
“No.”
Claire said immediately:
“I’m asking now.”
Marcus nodded once.
“Why?”
“Because we reserve the right to refuse service.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Darren stepped closer.
“Sir, let's not make this complicated.”
Marcus almost laughed.
That sentence.
It appeared everywhere power wanted compliance without explanation.
He looked toward the ceiling.
Small black cameras sat at three angles.
Good.
Then he looked at Darren.
“I’m not making anything complicated.”
“I walked in.”
“I asked to see a watch.”
“I offered payment.”
“She refused to process it and insulted me.”
Claire laughed again.
“You’re being dramatic.”
Marcus turned toward her.
“No.”
His voice remained quiet.
“You were very clear.”
Darren put one hand against Marcus’s shoulder.
Not hard yet.
But without permission.
Marcus looked down at it.
Then back up.
“Take your hand off me.”
Darren’s face hardened.
“Time to go.”
“I said take your hand off me.”
Claire folded her arms.
Several customers were watching openly now.
The older couple near the diamond case whispered to one another.
Daniel looked torn between fear of Claire and fear of what he understood was becoming a serious problem.
Darren gave Marcus a firm shove toward the entrance.
The movement was not violent enough to knock him down.
It was strong enough to make the point.
Marcus took one involuntary step.
Then stopped.
“Do not touch me again.”
Darren stepped closer.
“You want security called?”
Marcus looked at his uniform.
“You are security.”
The older man near the diamond case coughed to hide a laugh.
Darren’s face reddened.
Claire said:
“Just escort him out.”
Marcus looked toward her.
“Before I leave, run my name.”
Claire shook her head.
“No.”
“Not the card.”
Marcus pointed toward the terminal.
“Just my name.”
She stared.
“Marcus Bennett.”
Daniel stopped breathing.
Marcus saw it.
Interesting.
Claire didn’t.
Darren didn’t.
But Daniel knew something.
He looked at Marcus as though trying to place a face from a photograph.
“Marcus… Bennett?”
Marcus looked at him.
“Yes.”
Daniel’s mouth opened.
Then, from the rear staircase, someone shouted:
“Mr. Bennett?”
Every head turned.
Charles Whitmore, regional president for the western United States, came down the short staircase so quickly he nearly missed the final step.
He was fifty-five, silver-haired, dressed in a navy suit.
Marcus had met him three times during acquisition negotiations.
Charles had spent the last fourteen months helping the previous owners prepare the boutique group for sale.
He knew exactly who Marcus was.
More importantly, he knew exactly why Marcus was there.
The acquisition of Arden & Vale Luxury Group had closed forty-eight hours earlier.
Public announcement was scheduled for the following Monday.
Marcus’s investment firm now controlled seventy-two percent of the company.
The boutiques.