Page 62 of Merciless Heir
This time, his smile is dark and electric. “You’re a smart woman, Sadie.”
“I don’t shoot myself in my own foot. From what you’ve told me about this whole thing, your mother trying to stop you finding the tiara would hurt you.” Faye’s words rush back at me. I’m to hold him up, yes, not stop him finding it.
“The company doesn’t mean shit to me, beyond what it can bring my name and smooth out certain paths. But I don’t need that. I’m already more than successful. And my mother knows I’m not really one for being fucked over.”
I shiver as he gives me a pointed look. I’m not scared, but the type of implicit threat hidden in his words sends a frisson of excitement through my veins that’s more dangerous than any strong arming could ever be. He’s offering a toe-to-toe battle with him, and that’s the kind of threat the reckless part craves.
Because who knows where that kind of battle will end?
I’m thinking sweaty and naked.
“Why do you care, then?”
“I don’t like being fucked over.” His gaze slides slowly over me. “Fucked, on the other hand…”
I can’t breathe as my stomach soars so high the room rocks around me. Finally, I get myself back under some semblance of control.
“I’m sure there are plenty of willing women begging to do that,” I say.
“I’m sure there are.”
I want to shake him for that smugness. Even though I taunted him into it.
And he’s right, we really are an interesting pair.
Shit. I focus back on the topic. One I need to tread carefully around, and one he’s trying to throw me off balance and into the middle of. “I’m not out to stop you finding the tiara, Kingston. And I doubt your mother’s going to go to those kind of dark lengths to do whatever it is you think she’s doing.”
“You think she’s doing something, too.”
“I asked a question,” I say.
“One that didn’t just appear from the ether.”
“It stands to reason to question everything and everyone. Your mother, Jenson, the postman. I don’t know, Kingston. I’m here trying to find something someone doesn’t want found. And that can be hard when it comes to stolen goods like this. When it appears, we can make a move. We being me.”
“We being we, you mean.”
I breathe out and toss down the rest of my drink. Then I get up, and he hands me his glass. I shoot him a dirty look as I snatch it, and refill the glasses, deliberately giving him some white Spanish sherry.
He laughs when he takes a sip. “Nice try there, Sadie, but this is quality stuff.”
“Asshole.”
“So you’ve said.”
I sit down and he slides closer, his arm on the back of the sofa. But he doesn’t make a move to touch me and I’m not sure whether I’m relieved, annoyed, or suspicious. So I settle on all three.
“You think it’ll turn up?”
“I don’t think last night was any kind of happy coincidence. So yes, I think something will happen. I’m just trying to get a jump on it.” And no one’s talking. Not even Damon’s heard anything, and he keeps his ear to the ground as a way to protect his clients. “An exceptionally expensive tiara is missing, but no one has gone to the police.”
“They might not be announcing it.”
“These things are recorded, there’s protocol. The book that must be followed,” I say. My tone’s joking, but I’m not and he knows it. “What if it isn’t real? What if the tiara isn’t worth much?”
“It has to be,” he says. “And when I get it back, I’m having it evaluated. Then you sell it. For me.”
“You don’t want it for the history or family meaning?”