Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 138003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
“But you knew this was coming. I’ve given you thirty days already. Come on, Pete. That’s like a regular line of credit.”
From his position leaning against a steel pole, Antonio chuckles. By contrast, Luis, standing to Pete’s left, says nothing.
“You’ve put me in a very difficult predicament, paying the tax man when you owe me.” I throw up a hand as I lounge back in the chair. “Come on, Pete. The tax man lets you pay on account.”
“Only, I still owe money from last tax year and the missus—she does the bookkeeping—doesn’t know I owe you.”
Along with my sigh this time, I drag my hand down my face.
I don’t need to sit in on these… grassroots meetings. But from time to time, I choose to. It’s a way of keeping myself grounded, remembering where I came from. It also keeps the clientele from getting complacent.
Raif Deveraux. He’s got more money than Croesus.
He’s not going to chase me for fifty Gs.
But I am.
“So what are we going to do, Pete? How will we reach a satisfactory agreement this day?”
“I dunno, Mr. Deveraux. I’ve got no idea.”
“What’s the job you’re working on now?” Pulling my cigarettes from my pocket, I silently offer them his way.
Peter shakes his head. “A new build townhouse in Kensington.”
“How much is it worth?”
“It’s not mine.” His gaze flicks to the cancer stick in my hand. “It’s just a remodel.”
“I might have an idea. Your interior designer is Molly, yeah?” Exhaling, I blow out a perfect circle of smoke.
“Yeah,” he agrees hesitantly. Maybe because I happen to know he’s screwing her on the side.
“I want you to give her this,” I say, reaching into my pocket and pulling out Lavender’s business card. It must’ve fallen out of her purse in the bedroom this morning. I stare at the heavy stock card and run my thumb over the embossed W&W. Whit & With.
I offer it to Luis, who sticks it between Pete’s fingertips and looks down and reads it without sound.
“You have an art gallery, then?” he asks, looking up.
I don’t answer. “Molly is going to go visit this address and pick up a few pieces on your client’s account. I’m sure you’ll do your usual markup, which will come to me. Because I’m in a good mood, I’ll also deduct the retail price from your balance.”
“What?” His expression scrunches. “Why? You sure you don’t own the place?”
“How is this any of your business?” My tone is fucking frigid.
Whether by my tone or the look in my eye, Pete begins to stutter.
“S-sorry.” There go his eyes to my cigarette again. Not sure where he’s gotten the idea I’d burn him from and make a mental note to get Leo to investigate who else he owes. “I didn’t mean to pry.”
“Good, because you know what curiosity did to the cat.” I glance in Antonio’s direction.
“Put him in a sack, boss,” he offers, his hands tightening across his chest. “Dropped him in the river.”
It wouldn’t do for my clientele to think I’d gone soft.
“All right. Let’s not get hasty.” Pete folds the card between his fingers, holding on to it for dear life.
“So how’s this gonna work? What do I have to spend?”
“You owe me fifty thousand, so spend, say, twenty-five.”
Twenty-five in my pocket and the same in Lavender’s. Yeah, that feels nice.
“That’s a lot to spend on art—a lot of money to persuade the client to spend on art, I mean.”
“You don’t expect me to solve that problem for you as well, do you, Pete?” My phone buzzes in my pocket. “Excuse me.” I’ve been waiting for this call.
“Brin.”
“Yeah. I’m just returning your call.” Not because I want to, his tone seems to suggest.
“Thanks.” I keep my tone even. No need to bring up the other night. Not right now. “I have a question for you.”
“Yeah, all right.”
“Who hurt your sister?”
“What do you mean?” he demands, his tone much harsher than my own. “Is she okay?”
“When I left her earlier, she was perfectly fine.” I was less so. My brain felt like it was trying to escape through my temple, and my heart beat so hard, it wondered if it might be about to burst.
“It was in the past. I don’t know when, but someone hurt her, and she’s not saying who.”
“Well, it wasn’t me.”
“It wasn’t an insinuation. It was a civil question.”
“Civil or not, I don’t have the answer for you,” he grumbles. “And trying to get information out of Lavender when she doesn’t want to give you will only give you a headache.”
“I’m aware,” I say softly, touching my hand to my still throbbing temple. At the other side of the warehouse now, I gesture to Antonio, who nods. I click the key fob in my pocket and pull open the car door. “That’s why I’m calling you.”
The car engine roars to life.