“You’re expected to sit in on a conference call at 2:15. You have Trip Armistead at 3:00 and Sheila Chandra scheduled for 3:15. I assume this is either another diabolical power move, or you finally made your first mistake.”
Trip was a Georgia congressman and a client who was not going to enjoy our fifteen minutes together. “I never make mistakes,” I said, nodding to the associate in the gray suit whose name I couldn’t remember.
Petula gave me a bland look. “I’ll alert security. The cleaners won’t be pleased if they have to get bloodstains out of the rug again.”
“I’ll do my best to keep the bloodshed to a minimum,” I promised.
We headed into the busy field of cubicles where phones rang and employees diligently did whatever it was I paid them to do. The starting salary at Rollins Consulting was $80,000 a year. It wasn’t that I was generous. It was that I didn’t want to waste time constantly filling low-paying positions. The money also helped compensate for the fact that I was a demanding boss, an asshole as it was probably whispered around the watercooler. If I paid my team members less, I’d have to be nicer. And that didn’t interest me.
We strolled through the cubicles and past three occupied conference rooms. What had begun as a one-man boutique political consulting firm that was willing to get dirty for its clients had evolved into a one-hundred-and-fifteen-person organization that put people into and took them out of office when necessary. And I still didn’t mind playing dirty when it suited my objectives.
A shrill whistle caught my attention and I spied ex-U.S. Marshal Nolan Graham behind his desk in his glass-walled office, a phone pinned to his ear. He’d come on board a few months ago after he’d taken a bullet for my friend. I’d made him an offer it would be stupid to refuse, and he’d kissed his government job goodbye.
“I’ll leave you to Prince Charming,” Petula said with what could almost have passed for a smile in Nolan’s direction. It seemed that the man’s charm had managed to put a few cracks in my no-nonsense sentry’s armor.
I paused in Nolan’s doorway. “What?”
He hung up the phone and triumphantly riffed a few keys on his keyboard. “Cyber team got a few more suspicious money trails for you-know-who that we’re unraveling. Couple of fronts that look about right for laundering. Writing up the report now in case your Bureau buddies want to take a closer look.”
It was a fine line to walk. My cybersecurity analysts—colloquially known as hackers—worked their not-technically-legal magic to find threads to pull. Once we knew where to look, the rest of the team worked to confirm and pass along that information in ways that wouldn’t get the case bounced out of court.
Special Agent Idler was smart enough not to ask too many questions about how information fell into my lap.
“We need something bigger. A stash house. Distribution routes. A higher-up with a grudge who can be turned.” Something that would dismantle the organization from the inside out.
“What can I say? The guy’s not as big a fucking idiot as his son. If you don’t mind me saying, why not let Lina take a crack at some of the intel? She’s in the office today. Maybe she can find an avenue we’re overlooking.”
“She has a personal bias,” I insisted. I was not a my-door-is-always-open, here’s-the-suggestion-box kind of boss. I didn’t want feedback. I wanted to tell people what to do and then not have to worry about them doing it.
Besides, in addition to being royally pissed at the Hugo family for abducting her and nearly killing her fiancé, Lina also refused to fully commit to this job. At first, her part-time dabbling power play had been amusing. Now I found it irritating.
Between Petula, Nolan, and Lina all being blatantly unafraid of me, I had concerns the rest of the employees would follow suit and start doing things like knocking on my office door for “a quick chat” or suggesting I host an office holiday party.
Nolan kicked back in his chair. “Let’s see. If Lina’s the kettle, that would make you the pot.”
“I don’t have time for your nonsensical bullshit this afternoon.”
“Just to be clear you’re the pot calling the kettle black in that metaphor,” he said.
“I don’t have a personal bias,” I lied.
Nolan began a dramatic search of his desk drawers.
“What are you looking for?” I asked.
He paused, then grinned. “A fire extinguisher to put out your pants fire.”
“I thought you’d gotten less annoying since you shaved your mustache. I was wrong.”
He’d actually become significantly more likable after he’d stopped dating Sloane, a requirement of his employment with me.
Fuck.
I glanced at my watch.
I hadn’t even made it into my office before my first thought of her. I’d had breakfast with the woman. Why couldn’t I just set her aside and move on to the next thing that required handling? Sloane Walton never did anything I wanted her to. I wanted a life where nothing made me feel powerless, out of control, and until I found a way to exorcise the woman, I would always be vulnerable.
“Just saying. Seems like you’re waiting for her to prove her loyalty, and she’s waiting for you to prove you’re worth being loyal to. If you two don’t try to meet in the middle, no one’s getting off this fucked-up power trip merry-go-round.”
It took me a moment to realize he was talking about Lina, not Sloane.
“I don’t recall asking you for your opinion.”
“That’s what friends are for. Speaking of, you want some backup with the feds today? I can stand behind you and make menacing faces,” Nolan offered.
“I don’t need backup.” The fewer people directly involved in the Anthony Hugo investigation, the better. When Hugo caught wind of what I was doing, I wanted his attention focused solely on me. “What I do want is the deep dive on Fund It’s partners in ten minutes,” I ordered.
“Already on your desk,” he said, smugly tossing a peanut M&M into his mouth.
It was less fun ordering people about when they’d already predicted what I needed and delivered it.
On a grunt, I left his office and headed toward mine.
“You’re welcome,” Nolan called after me.
Sometimes I wondered why I’d bothered hiring employees. They were all annoying.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Rollins,” chirped a perky redhead who looked more like she should be studying for her driver’s license test than working for one of the country’s most ruthless consulting firms.
I should have worked from home.
Holly was twenty-two years old, the mother of two, and this was what she referred to as her first “grown-up” job. She acted abominably grateful toward me as if the job and salary were personal favors I’d granted her.
It made me uncomfortable and awkward.
“Your hair is…interesting,” I said.
She turned around, giving me an unrequested view of the back of her head. Today she wore her hair in two thick braids that looked as if birds had uniformly worked their way down each one, attempting but not quite succeeding to pull them apart.
“Do you like it? It’s called bubble braids. I have a YouTube channel—”
“I don’t care,” I said.
She let out a girlish giggle. “You’re so funny, Mr. Rollins.”
“No. I’m not,” I insisted.
She waved away my statement. “I just wanted to let you know that I left a little something for you on your desk. You asked me about my lunch yesterday, so I brought you some to try.”
I hadn’t asked her about her lunch. I’d suggested she not microwave fish chowder in the break room because it made the entire office smell like the belly of a crab trawler.
“You really shouldn’t have done that.”
“It was the least I could do,” she said cheerfully.
“How thoughtful,” Petula said, reappearing at my side like an elite sniper. “Mr. Rollins will certainly enjoy your chowder for his afternoon snack.”
Holly beamed sunnily at us. “Just wait until I make you my tofu curry!”
We watched her all but skip away.
“Christ, what was I thinking hiring her?” I muttered.
“You were thinking she desperately needed a job that could support two kids. She thinks you’re a knight in shining armor,” Petula explained, opening the door to my office.