Page 8 of Sin of Love
5
“I need to talk to Nate.”
Dominic Cross, owner of Crossroads and Nate’s boss, eyes me across the desk like he isn’t sure if I’m sober or not. I can’t blame him; I’ve been drinking for a week straight and even I can smell the alcohol seeping from my pores.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he says—firm and final.
Fuck that.
I lean forward, bracing my elbows on my knees, and lower my voice. “London said Nate told you what happened to him and Deirdre when they were kids.”
Though it wasn’t a question, Dominic inclines his head. “He did, yes. But I’m not going to talk about it. It was said in confidence.”
“I’m not asking you to talk about Nate. I’m asking Nate to talk about Deirdre. He’s the only one who might be able to shed some light on what the fuck is happening with her.”
Dominic merely crosses his arms, one eyebrow cocked—in disdain or sympathy, I can’t tell. His steady, dark stare makes me feel every ounce of my own sorry state. Unkempt, hungover, my hair knotted and my beard overgrown, I look like I rolled out of an alley in Venice instead of a mansion in Pacific Palisades.
“Dominic, please.” I don’t bother to mask my desperation. “I thought I could let her go, but—fuck. I can’t.”
This time, I recognize sympathy in his eyes. “I’m sorry, I really am, but I’m not giving you Nate’s phone number, address, or work schedule. Has it occurred to you that Deirdre’s sudden disappearance has done a number on him? That he might be grieving? Hurt by her abandonment?”
“She didn’t leave because she wanted to,” I snap. “She left because she felt like she didn’t havea choice.”
“Do you know that?” asks Dominic mildly. “Are you absolutely sure that’s true?”
Something in his voice sets my teeth on edge and narrows my eyes. “What are you saying?”
He sighs, for the first time looking uncomfortable with the conversation. “Look, Gid, it’s not my place to tell you this, but Jesus, I’ve never seen you this wrecked. I just want you to consider there may be a lot about Deirdre you don’t know.”
My spine stiffens. “I know her. She told me the truth about her childhood, about what happened to her and Nate.”
Dominic smiles sadly. “No. She didn’t.”
We stare at each other, neither of us backing down, neither of us willing to escalate the conversation. I have an inch or two on him, but I’m not sure what would happen if I gave in to my instinct and launched over his desk.
Given the rumors of Dominic’s sadism, he’d probably wipe the floor with me while making sure I felt maximum pain. The prospect is more appealing than it should be.
I finally break the silence, bowing not to intimidation but to my pressing need for more liquor. “Will you at least tell Nate I’d like to speak to him?”
Slow nod. “Will do.”
I let myself out of his office and veer left toward the nearby exit before my feet march me back into the main club in search of Nate. I don’t want a repeat of what happened thirty minutes ago, when Dominic found me stumbling around the empty space, alternately yelling for Deirdre and Nate.
Like a psycho.
The sleek black town car crowds the alley behind Crossroads. I wrench open the back door and toss myself inside.
“Good Lord, Gideon, what on earth is the matter with you? When you said you wanted to meet, I didn’t know I’d be carting a drunken buffoon around town. What is this place?”
“You’re not carting anything, are you, Dad?” I nod toward the passive-faced driver. “That’d be his job. Does he give the hookers their tips, too?”
The frigid silence is a balm. Soothing and soft. Misery does love its company, and there’s no one I’d like to be miserable more than my Dear Old Dad.
“Are you quite finished?”
I yawn.
“You have ten seconds to tell me the reason for this monumental waste of my workday before I’m kicking you out of this car.”
