Chapter 202
Serena
He didn't answer her. His gaze swept the showroom with the precision of a surgeon identifying a tumor, landing first on the manager, then on Vanessa, and finally—warmly, possessively—on me.
Vanessa recovered faster than I would have given her credit for. She straightened her shoulders and pointed at me like I was evidence at a crime scene. "You see? Your nephew's ex-girlfriend is here throwing herself at your driver. It's pathetic. She has no shame, and I was just trying to—"
The temperature in the room dropped another ten degrees.
Lance's expression didn't change, but something in his eyes shifted from ice to something far more dangerous. When he spoke, his voice was so quiet I almost didn't hear it. "Vincent."
Vincent stiffened beside me.
"I asked you to accompany my girlfriend while she selected a vehicle." Each word was enunciated with surgical precision. "Was I unclear in my instructions? Because from where I'm standing, it appears she's been subjected to considerable... disrespect."
The word "girlfriend" landed like a grenade.
Vanessa's face went through several colors in rapid succession—white, red, then a sickly gray-green. "Girlfriend?" She looked between Lance and me, her carefully constructed superiority crumbling in real time. "The Wolf of Wall Street has a girlfriend? Lance, you can't be serious. This is a joke, right? You're not actually—"
The slap came so fast I almost missed it.
Vincent's hand connected with Vanessa's cheek with a crack that echoed through the showroom. She stumbled backward, her hand flying to her face, shock rendering her momentarily speechless.
"Vincent!" I gasped, but there was no real horror in my voice. Just... shock. And maybe, buried deep underneath, a tiny flicker of savage satisfaction.
"Oh dear." Vincent examined his hand with theatrical concern. "I do apologize. It's just that spending time with Ms. Vance and Mr. Lawson lately has made me so emotional. Their relationship is quite touching, really. It's softened my temperament considerably. I'm usually much more controlled than this."
He delivered a second slap, this one hard enough that Vanessa actually stumbled, barely catching herself on a nearby display.
The showroom had gone completely silent. Even the manager looked frozen, his mouth working soundlessly.
"Vincent," I said again, fighting desperately to keep the smile off my face. "This is a public place. Lance, I didn't ask you to—"
"Didn't you?" Lance's voice was softer now, almost amused, as he crossed the showroom toward me. His eyes never left mine, and there was something in them that made my stomach flip. "Because your eyes are telling me a very different story, Serena. In fact, you're trying so hard not to smile right now that your mouth is actually twitching."
Damn him for being right.
The manager finally found his voice, abandoning Vanessa where she stood clutching her reddening cheek. He practically threw himself at my feet, his earlier disdain replaced by naked panic. "Ms. Vance, I cannot apologize enough. Ms. Holland's comments were completely inappropriate and in no way reflect the values of Premier Auto Collection. If you still want the vehicles you selected, they're absolutely yours. We'll—"
"Oh, are they?" I let the question hang in the air, sweet and poisonous. "Because I'm not sure I want them now. They've been... tainted. Ms. Holland stood far too close to them. The cars probably reek of her desperation."
Lance made a sound that might have been a cough or a laugh.
The manager's smile was so wide it had to hurt. "Of course, of course. We'll have them detailed immediately. Deep cleaned. Sanitized. And then personally delivered to whatever address you prefer, with our compliments and deepest apologies."
"Fuck this!" Vanessa's voice cracked like a whip across the showroom. She'd recovered from Vincent's assault, though her cheek bore an angry red handprint and her eyes were wild. "I don't care who she's fucking! My father is a major shareholder in this company! I decide what gets sold and to whom! And I'm telling you right now—she doesn't get those cars. She doesn't get anything!"
The manager's professional mask slipped. "Ms. Holland," he said, his voice low and urgent, "your father wouldn't want you to antagonize the Lawson family over—"
"I don't give a shit what my father wants!" Vanessa was shaking now, her composure completely shattered. "If you sell her a single vehicle today, I'll make sure he fires you. And every other employee in this building. Do you understand me?"
The manager went very still.