Page 53 of Brian and Mina's Holiday Hits
“Is it an open contract?” I ask as I go to our closet and slip into a pair of black heels.
“I’m assured I’m the only one who’s been asked, but I’m not sure I trust the guy.”
“If you don’t trust the guy, then why are you taking the job?”
Brian shrugs, and I know he has no plans to say anymore about this right now.
It’s after dark when we arrive at the Windsor Estate. The heavily guarded iron gate extends around Drake Windsor’s massive property which seems to go on for miles. I grip Brian’s arm and lean in to whisper in his ear as we walk along the well-lit path up to the front door.
“What about weapons?” I whisper.
“No weapons,” he says. “They’ll pat us down and send us all through a metal detector inside.”
“Then how in the fuck are we going to do this? Are you planning to kill him with your bare hands?”
Brian shrugs. “I could. He’s too refined to get his own hands dirty. He’s old money.”
“What does he do? Besides hiring assassins to kill all his enemies.” You’d think Brian would have listed this man’s profession on the murder wall.
“Oil magnate.”
“Is that even still a thing?”
“Apparently,” he says.
“I thought you’d tell me he was in the tech industry.”
Brian laughs. “I saidoldmoney.”
“Fossil fuel. Checks out.” Dinosaurs are for sure old.
I stop talking as we get closer to the house. It’s so big, even the wordmansiondoesn’t quite cover it. The security detail are all big burly guys wearing suits and electronic ear pieces. They give us both a once over, their eyes staying on me a bit longer than is actually necessary.
The first one pats Brian down, and then goes for me, but Brian closes a tight grip over the man’s wrist.
His voice is low and calm when he speaks. “Elvin, I swear to every power living and dead that if you touch her, you will not survive to see your daughter’s first Christmas.”
The guard swallows hard. “I have orders…”
“You have metal detectors. You and I both know that’s the real security. This pat down business is just security theater—a display of Windsor’s power and nothing more. You think about whether it’s worth your life to participate in this charade.”
He nods. “Go on in, Mr. Sloan.” Then he nods at me, “Ma’am.”
I can tell he’s disappointed he won’t get to pat me down. I just smile at him as we pass. But I let out a shuddering sigh of relief once we’re to the second stage of security. I don’t know if Brian knows this, but I’m pretty sure a guy like that touching me in any way as intimate as a pat down would have sent me spiraling into flashbacks from my past, which is the last thing I need tonight.
The fact that Windsor manhandles all his party guests like this adds a mark against him and explains why someone might want to hire someone to remove him from the gene pool.
Brian helps me get the platinum collar off and put it in the bin for jewelry next to the metal detectors. Windsor doesn’t just have guards with discreet wands, he has full on metal detectors, like what you walk through at the airport.
I wonder if he gets a thrill out of making all his wealthy friends and acquaintances remove jewelry and cuff links to pass through his security—just a little humiliation ritual to make sure everyone knows who is top dog here. Brian removes a belt and his own cuff links. I didn’t even know hehadcuff links. He’s clearly committed to playing the role of someone who belongsin this environment down to even the most non-essential trappings.
I stare up at the ornate vaulted ceilings. It does look a bit like a fancy airport in the entry hall. Once we get through security and put all our metal-containing finery back on, we have to pass through a second set of large walnut doors to get inside the main house and party.
White-gloved men in white tuxedos stand at this second set of doors. They nod at us and open them. I already hate this pompous Windsor guy. The display of opulence is disgusting.
“I thought wealth whispered,” I say to Brian as we pass into the ballroom.
“Not at home, just in front of the peasants.”
