Chapter 6

Yeah, it's short. Don't complain, I'm working on the next one.

Baljeet shivered at Buford's smirk. He felt exposed under those deep blues eyes, but managed to keep himself composed.

"Just remember that I'm there to dance. I don't privately entertain anyone." He retorted.

"I'm sure I could make an exception of that." Again with that crooked, charming smile.

"Hardly." Baljeet practically snatched his bag up, stuffing in the things he'd gotten out. "If you'll excuse me—"

Buford grabbed her arm, putting it through the crook of his elbow, a bastardized version of gentlemanly charm. "Now, now, doll, just let me show you out. It's the proper thing to do, ain't it?"

Baljeet shuddered at his butchering of the English language, but allowed himself to be led out.

Traveling through the halls, resplendent with their hodgepodge of finery, Baljeet felt just a little insignificant. But then he reminded himself that monetary wealth isn't everything, and knowledge is worth much more than gold.

But passing by a bathroom with an open doorway and seeing a gold-plated toilet can do things to your self-esteem.

Finally, after what seemed like hours (had he really seen a diamond encrusted duvet?), they finally were met with the exit, two rather large doors that looked more like they would fit in a bank vault. Baljeet raised an eyebrow.

"After that frivolous display of assets, I am surprised to see something so plain."

"I've got a plethora of things I pay for, doll. But I'll choose effective over inefficient if it can't be prettied up." Looking at Baljeet's wide-eyed gaze, he shrugged. "Hey, I've got more use for security than comfort, anyways. And hey," he grinned, "I ain't as stupid as I look."

Baljeet barely suppressed the urge to run away screaming at this new indignity; the mixture of proper sentences and witless aspersions. His thoughts became occupied by words with more than eight syllables as they walked through the door, a limo rumbling in the circular driveway.

He brushed off the arm Buford had placed around his shoulders, ignoring the limo. "I thank you for saving me, sir. I am good now. I'll just go catch a taxi and—"

"A taxi!" Buford was aghast. This beautiful lady, a prime target, just getting a taxi? And the day after she'd been attacked. He's not been one for theatrics, but he'll be inclined to it every once and again. "Certainly not. I'll drive you." At her critical glance that somehow seemed anxious and indignant, he corrected, "My men will drive you."

Baljeet nodded slowly. "All right," he said, "but I do not want you to start following me around."

"Buster shall be sworn to secrecy," Buford said mock-gravely. Baljeet ignored his tone, choosing instead to step into the luxurious vehicle, and praying that this would be the last he would ever see of Buford.

But unfortunately, fate has a funny sense of humor.