“Your pretty wife won’t get touched if you do what I say.” He slammed his hand on the desk in front of me. “You think I trust anyone? You think I walked into this town without an insurance policy?”
I leaned back in my chair, forcing myself to breathe. Victor was a desperate man—but even desperate men slipped.
“Audio, huh?” I asked, keeping my voice flat. “That new?”
“Gotta keep up with the times.”
“I’m not backing out of our deal. Just give me some time. Can you do that?”
Silence.
“Or,” I added, “you can move now and risk all the bullshit coming down on you.”
Victor leaned forward. “You think you’re clever?”
“No.” I smiled. “I’ve learned running a business you gotta do the hard stuff.”
“You’ve got one week.” Victor stood, fixing the front of his suit. “And if all this shit goes up in flames? It’ll beyouwho did it. Remember that.”
The door shut behind him.
My smile dropped.
One week.
I could do a lot in a week. Burn a business to the ground, resurrect another from the ashes, lie through my fucking teeth if I had to.
But I was going to need someone to help with Victor. The question was just who?
I left the office, the door slamming behind me. The elevator was too slow, so I took the stairs, two at a time, my brain already spinning through names, favors, old debts.
Stepping onto the street, I saw Victor a few feet from his car, his hand on the door handle. He paused, sensing me. With a mocking wave, he slid into the driver’s seat, and then the blacked-out Mercedes pulled off smoothly.
I scanned my surroundings, and a cold dread washed over me.
Across the street, Erik sat in a parked G-Wagon, the streetlights glinting off the polished surface of the SUV.
Fuck.
CHAPTER 22
Serena
“C’mon on, please!”Gigi said through the phone.
“I barely like you, why would I want your geriatric ass dog over here?”
I stared at the front of Mrs. Fontaine’s property. Workers were already moving in and out, hauling materials and shouting over the noise.
“Walter is a distinguished senior citizen, and I have a date tonight.”
“Haven’t you dated every man in the statealready? This sounds like ayouproblem.”
“Don’t be a bitch,” Gigi said.
My thighs ached. A dull, traitorous throb. I shifted in my seat, as if that would erase the memory of him. Of his fingers. Of my shameful gasp.
God. Focus.
