Page 58 of Merciless Heir
“I’m not sure they were friendly.” I doodle on a pad next to my computer. There are a lot of things I want to say to her, but I’m not going to. “Would you call them friendly?”
“Take it as a warning then.”
I start to laugh, then stop. “Why are you calling?”
“The event has been cancelled.”
“And I should trust you?” I ask. “Why?”
She gives an impatient sigh. “You’re a clever boy. I’m sure you can find a way to either prove or disprove my statement. Or, I can come hold your hand this evening.”
“I’ll see you tonight.” And I hang up before I can say anything else.
My day doesn’t go according to plan. There’s some bullshit at the office I need to take care of, which I do. If I wasn’t so caught up in the dire situation of the damn tiara and who the hell is behind it, I’d find it amusing the fact workers scatter when I walk in.
I know I demand absolute excellence and hard work, and I also know I pay them for it. The old adage of the boss being away and mice playing is applicable everywhere. My mice play on a different level, and they still work fucking hard when I’m not there.
Excellence is something I demand in every business transaction I embark on, and the Sadie thing is no different. Question is, I don’t think she’s giving me that. Scratch the thought, actually. She is. But she has ulterior motives, and one of those might be getting her to use that excellence as a way to stymie the job.
I’m talking in circles in my brain.
If she doesn’t turn up tonight, I’m heading out that door to the meeting she’s claimed has been called off. And then I’ll be visiting my mother, whom I most certainly don’t trust. But right now, I have to meet Jenson. I shut down my computer and I let my assistant know to contact me if anything comes up and then I’m gone.
The sky is heavy and there’s been talk of early snow this year, but that really isn’t bothering me. No. What’s bothering me is the tiara crap.
Because that’s tied up with an ex-cat burglar with mesmerizing eyes and a mouth that haunts my dreams.
I get in my car. “Henry and Co,” I say to my driver. It’s a little restaurant on the east side of Central Park, and I’m going to be late. Something I abhor, but I can’t do much about.
Sadie Hess shouldn’t haunt my dreams. It’s the first time a woman has in a long time. Not since…well, not since I was that stupid kid who thought love was real.
It’s probably the tiara business that’s putting her front and center. Of course, that works right up until I get to the hot fantasies that star her.
I’m not a man given to fantasies. If I want and the woman is willing, then it happens. No need for fantasies, hot or otherwise.
So why Sadie? She’s not my type. Is she?
That bothers me. She’s there, under my skin, so deep I can feel her sliding against the bone. We are a lot alike, I know that, but I’m not exactly looking for another me. Not that I’m looking.
We arrive at the curb and I get out, my driver moving off to find a place to park. I head in to the swank little bistro in bronze and red and pale honeyed wood. I slide into my seat opposite Jenson and I’m half surprised not to see my mother there. After all, she seems to have her fingers in everything these days.
I run a cool gaze over Jenson, who seems like the place is too warm for him. He’s not sweating, but there’s a definite sheen.
“What’s up?”
He plays with his menu. “I take it the search isn’t going well?”
“I’m not sure yet.”
“Time’s running out, Kingston, and when it comes to the company, I can’t wiggle out of it.”
I narrow my eyes. I should be meeting my brothers for lunch, but the meeting with Jenson seemed more important, and that feeling grows with his discomfort that borders on desperation.
“I get all that. But can you tell me how it went missing?” I pause, giving him time to answer, but it’s there in his eyes. He doesn’t know.
The waiter comes and I order the house salad and croque madame. Jenson the house salad only, which tells me a whole story.
“So, you don’t know, and no one reported it.”