“Dunno. They weren’t safe there, either. No one attached to the club was – is. Killing Waverly didn’t solve anything.”
“Well, yeah, ‘course not. Now the club’s on everyone’s radar.”
Above them, the purple faded into magenta-orange and began to bleed down toward the rooftops, a slow spill like a tipped-over bucket of sunrise-colored paint.
“I guess it’s just gonna be like this from now on,” Bennet said, voice going heavy, wistful. “God. I miss the old days, sometimes. Dealing dope, and buying guns outta somebody’s trunk. A bar fight every once in a while, to keep you on your toes.” He sighed. “Now Mav’s talking about an ‘empire.’ That’s all well and good, I guess. Shit knows I’m never gonna be in charge and makin’ those decisions. But. I don’t love it, you know?”
“I know,” Toly said, and he did.
~*~
Hyper-aware that she was being watched, Raven had only one cup of black tea with sugar while she reviewed the day’s digital itinerary at the desk in her agency office. Her eyes shifted over the tidy half-hour blocks, color-coded and set with 11-point Times New Roman, the picture of obsessive organization…and she absorbed none of it, thoughts a tumble of competing worry and agitation.
Bennet had bid them good day outside her building, like normal, but rather than one of her usual, stoically silent security guards, it was Toly who’d ridden shotgun beside the driver in the Rover.
Well, Toly was stoic, and silent, but he exuded an aura that left the fine hairs on her arms bristling in a way the hired guys never did.
They’d dropped Cassandra off at school: Raven had walked her in, Toly shadowing them, drawing startled looks from parents and staff. Looks he surely noticed, because he seemed to notice everything, but which he didn’t remark upon. She didn’t comment; didn’t sayit looks terribly odd foryouto be followingmearound. It was too insulting, even if it was true.
From there, it was straight to the agency, where they parted at the elevators, and one of her big, broad, hired men – Todd, today – followed her up to her office, where it was greeting after greeting, checking in with Melanie – who still seemed a bit shaken – and then her usual morning routine. Tea, email, headlines.
The latest email, time stamped just twenty minutes before, was from Donovan Smith, asking if she’d given his proposition any more thought.
The door snicked open and in walked Toly. She spared him a glance – and then forced herself not to do a double-take. He wore a rich blue suit today, a shade more royal than navy, with black lapels, white shirt, black tie. Though he’d showered and slicked his hair back, a single black lock had sprung loose, and lay along his temple, just begging to be tucked back behind his ear. Though brief, the sight of him sent a shockwave through her, a sudden, strong pulse of…appreciation. She’d call it that.
He crossed the office toward the coffee cart fastening his cufflinks, and she pointedly looked at her computer.
“Bad news?” he asked.
“What?”
“You’re making a face.”
Bollocks. “I’ve had an email from Donovan Smith,” she said, pleased with her quick-thinking; it wasn’t even a lie, really. “I find his use of the phrase ‘proposition’ to be objectionable, in this instance.”
He joined her, wreathed in the scents of coffee and Hugo Boss; a faint shudder moved through her chair as he gripped the back of it. He leaned in to read the email, which she hadn’t exactly invited him to do, but to which she didn’t object; close like this, face a blur in her periphery, she could detect his hair gel, too, faintly citrusy.
“He’s not wrong,” he said, after a moment, straightening. “Itisa proposition.”
“One that makes me feel as cheap and dirty as the back-alley variety.”
He snorted and moved around the desk. Shockingly, he didn’t take up his usual post slouched against the wall, but settled into one of the two chairs across from it. He propped one foot up on the opposite knee, and she noted that he was wearing his harness boots beneath his suit trousers, rather than a nice pair of wingtips. Before she could comment on this, he said, “Are you going to accept it?”
Truth told, she hadn’t given the charity gala much thought last night. After the finger, she’d thought of nothing but keeping her sister safe, not dying herself, and wrestling with the stupid flips her stomach kept doing around the man currently sitting across from her. She gave it some thought now, and frowned.
“I’m not sure.”
He watched her, listening, and so she continued: “On the one hand, if he is affiliated with whatever remains of Abacus, or trying to start his own – if he’s a sex fiend, I mean, then working with him could be a means of finding that out for certain. Keep your enemies close and all that.”
He sipped coffee, and nodded.
“But on the other hand, working with someone you find suspicious feels needlessly unsafe.”
“Would you really be working with him, though? It’s only donating a few outfits.”
She tilted her head in concession. “True…but so far, publicly, my reputation is clean. Waverly’s downfall hasn’t hurt my business one whit. I’ve never been affiliated with anyone who was dispatched.”
Toly shrugged. “We might not have to ‘dispatch’ Smith. He might be totally clean.”
