Mr. Perfect (Sinister in Savannah #2) - Aimee Nicole Walker Page 0,13
even unknowingly.
In the far-right corner in the back of the showroom were the service counter and a waiting room for people to hang out while their cars got serviced. The dealership provided free coffee and muffins throughout the day, and there were several vending machines in an alcove behind the seating area. A few customers sat around watching a twenty-four-hour cable news channel, which was the equivalent of unknowingly having their brains sucked out. Objectivity in journalism wasn’t dead yet, but it was definitely on life support. Finding impartiality was hard, and practicing it was even harder in the current polarizing political climate. Speaking the truth garnered many enemies, so it was a good thing Felix had no problem being the bad guy.
“Good afternoon, sir,” a deep voice said from his right.
Felix looked over as a tall man stood up from his desk and buttoned his suit jacket. Couldn’t Spencer allow the guys to wear polo shirts in this kind of weather? Then again, it was cold enough to hang meat in the showroom. Felix smiled and held up his folder. “I have an appointment to meet with Mr. Spencer.”
The salesman’s smile faltered. He released his jacket and sat back down. “See the black glass door on the other side of the service desk?” Felix nodded. “That’s where the executive office is located. Betsy at the service desk will need to buzz you in, so go see her first.”
“Thanks,” Felix said.
Betsy wasn’t at the counter when Felix arrived, so he entertained himself by reading the posters on the wall, which touted how much Spencer valued excellence, honoring his principles, and servicing his customers. There were dozens of plaques bestowing high honors such as Businessman of the Year and Top Ford Dealership in Georgia. Other accolades were reserved for the vehicles themselves, such as their safety and durability. Then there were the team photos of various youth teams the dealership sponsored over the years. Felix was making a second pass over the display and quickly losing his patience when Betsy finally appeared.
“Well, hon, you should’ve rung the bell. I wasn’t aware anyone was at the counter.”
“Bell?” Felix asked, looking pointedly at the bare slab of black marble.
She glanced down at a spot where she expected it to be, then shook her head. “Oh, damn. One of the service guys must have stolen it again. They think it’s funny, but I don’t.”
“Assure them that your customers don’t either,” Felix replied. “My name is Felix Franklin, and I have an appointment to see Mr. Spencer at four. A salesman told me you’d have to buzz me back through to the executive offices.”
Betsy narrowed her eyes. “His assistant didn’t inform me about the meeting.”
“It’s a recent addition to his calendar.”
She held up a finger and picked up her phone. “I still have to double-check.”
“I understand,” Felix said calmly.
“Hey, Roni,” Betsy said into the phone, “I have a Felix Frank—” Betsy’s eyes darted up to meet Felix’s as she listened to whatever Veronica had to say. “Okay. I’ll send him back.”
Felix nodded at Betsy and headed toward the black glass door. When he reached it, a mechanical lock audibly disengaged. Felix pulled open the door and stepped into The Auto King’s opulent space. Publicly, Cameron Spencer had often eschewed the royal moniker given to him. He would pretend to be an average Joe who’d built up his empire by rolling up his sleeves and getting to work. Any person who walked into his private office space would see that his humility was phony.
The commercial-grade tile gave way to gleaming hardwood floors with an elegant area rug woven with purple and gold wool—two colors associated with royalty. In case the visitors didn’t get the connection with the hues alone, they only had to look at the center of the rug to see the royal crest of a magnificent gold lion and a shield. Beneath it was a banner bearing The Auto King’s credo: Excellence. Service. Honor. This was the real Cameron Spencer. The cars had their showroom, and The Auto King had his.
A petite woman stood up as he approached her desk.
“You must be Veronica,” Felix said, extending his hand. “We’ve spoken several times.”
She shook his hand, then said, “Yes, I recall.”
Veronica’s stiff posture, dry tone, and brittle gaze caught him by surprise. He understood why Betsy’s eyes darted up to his. Whatever Veronica had said on the phone had most likely been unflattering. During their past conversations, Felix had never raised his voice or said