Just then, a waiter came by with a tray, offering her a glass of red wine.
“Thanks,” Hannah said, expressing her gratitude.
The waiter left, smiling.
Holding a glass of red wine, Hannah made her way to a quieter corner.
Just as she reached a secluded spot, she felt a strong grip on her arm.
Bang!
With a sudden move, Bryson pinned her against the wall, his arm securing her in place. He looked at her, anger in his eyes, and demanded, “I heard you’re meeting Remington Lyons tonight?”
Hannah glanced at his abdomen, concern in her eyes, then met his gaze defiantly. “Yes, I have plans with him. Is there a problem?”
Bryson’s eyes, dark as the night, bore into hers. “Stay away from Lyons, no matter your intentions.”
Mocking, Hannah retorted, “Mr. Mitchell, aren’t you being a bit too intrusive? My plans are none of your business.”
She pushed him off and turned to leave, but before she could take a step, she was swept off her feet.
“Bryson!”
Clutching his neck, Hannah was cautious not to struggle too much, concerned about his injured abdomen.
She whispered urgently, “Put me down, now!”
Bryson, carrying Hannah, entered the elevator on the other side of the deck.
They arrived at his room on the fifth floor. He barged in, slamming the door behind them, and tossed Hannah onto the bed.
Dressed in red, Hannah sank into the soft mattress. She tried to rise, but Bryson held her down.
Looking down at her, he accused, “You’re involved in money laundering with Wilde, and now you’re entangling with Lyons. What are you up to?”
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Determined, Hannah wrapped her arms around his neck. “And what about you? Your past dealings with Wilde and your presence here in Newfort.
Are they for business or something shadier?”
Bryson gently brushed her hair aside. “I’ve never been involved with him. That much I can assure you.”
“Really?” Hannah asked, her tone casual and relaxed.
Bryson gently held her chin, his voice firm. “Of course.”
Hannah’s eyes sparkled with a smile. “Is there anything else you’re keeping from me?”