“I’m telling Nash,” Lina announced. “NDA or not, he deserves to know.”
“I assumed you would.” It worked in my favor, since then she’d have to listen to him bitch about civilians sticking their noses into law enforcement investigations instead of me.
She sighed. “Thanks for reading me in.”
“Welcome to the team,” Nolan said.
“Speaking of work,” Lina said. “Morganstern Credit Corporation was just informed they’re about to be hit with a lawsuit for skeezy debt collection practices. The attorney sends her thanks, by the way. She thinks this might turn into a class action suit.”
“Good,” I said, checking my phone for messages.
“You know, it sure is a small world,” she mused. “Sloane went out with a guy from Morganstern who tried to scam her by faking his own death.”
“Huh. No kidding,” Nolan said, looking pointedly at me.
“Are we done here?” I asked.
“I’ve got a grumpy chief of police to call,” Lina said. She was already pulling her phone out of her blazer pocket before she hit the hall.
“So not to be that guy, but now that we know who put Nash’s name on that list, are we still planning on giving the FBI a hand with their case against Hugo?” Nolan asked.
I shoved my hands in my pockets. “It wasn’t Duncan who had men tail Holly. Anthony made it personal.”
“I’ll move ‘destroy the fucker’ to the top of our to-do list,” Nolan said amicably.
“What are you doing for your wife for Valentine’s Day?” I asked suddenly.
Nolan’s face lit up. “Callie’s been working long hours lately, so I got a pair of massage therapists coming to the house for a couples massage in front of the fireplace. Then I’m gonna order her favorite pizza, and we’re going to camp out on the couch watching rom-coms and drinking old-fashioneds until the frisky part of the festivities begins.”
“Men shouldn’t use words like frisky.”
“So what about you? Big plans for the big V?”
“Why do I bother talking to you?”
Nolan grinned. “Because you secretly love me and think I’m delightful. So you and Sloane?”
I hated how much I’d wanted someone to say her name in front of me. “What about Sloane?”
“You walked in looking like your horse took the Triple Crown. Now you’re standing in my office willingly making small talk. Somebody got under that prickly exterior. My money’s on Blondie.”
“As always, I regret our conversation,” I said, heading for the door.
“Fine. But if you need relationship advice, you know where to find me,” he called after me.
I presented him with my middle finger on my way out.
Nash: Lina is reporting that the head of the evil empire is walking around the office looking like he just got laid.
Knox: Hope this one didn’t steal your watch and your robe.
Lucian: Running an evil empire takes significant focus. I don’t have time for your girlish gossip. Especially now that I have to fire Lina.
Knox: He definitely got laid.
Nash: Let me know if you need to file a robbery report.
Knox: Wait a second. Weren’t you in Knockemout this weekend? Neecey said you called in a pizza order Sunday.
Nash: Don’t tell me you finally gave in to Mrs. Tweedy’s advances.
Lucian: What Mrs. Tweedy and I do or don’t do is none of your business.
Nash: I’m begging you. Please don’t drive some poor, unsuspecting Knockemout woman crazy enough to start stalking you. I don’t have the manpower to deal with it.
Sloane: I’ve had three patrons tell me I’m glowing. I had to start telling people I found a new foundation so they wouldn’t know it was orgasmic. How’s your day? Destroy the economies of any small countries yet?
Me: Petula has a medical team on standby because I smiled. Lina wants to know why I’m not frowning enough. And Nolan thinks that I secretly love him. I hate everything.
Sloane: On the bright side, your penis will have time to heal since you won’t be shoving it inside me any time soon.
Me: Just to clarify for the official documents my lawyer is drawing up, we’re no longer having sex, correct?
Sloane: I believe that is what was discussed somewhere between orgasms and your snoring when we took a nap on my couch.
Me: That was a coma, not a nap. So we’re done then. Never to be mentioned again. You’re off to focus on finding Mr. Perfect to build your gigantic, unruly family and I’m free to continue my capitalistic pillaging.
Sloane: Yep. Have fun pillaging!
Me: Have fun finding a husband who isn’t incredibly disappointing in bed.
Sloane: It’s going to take hours upon hours of exhaustive, naked research on my part.
Me: Are you sure your endurance is up for the task? Perhaps you should consider a training program to improve your cardiovascular baseline.
Sloane: Are you offering to sex coach me?
Me: Are you considering the offer?
Sloane: What about the official documents your lawyer is drawing up? I’d hate for you to waste all that money by having sex with me again.
Me: I can have the contract postdated. What are you doing Friday?
Sloane: Friday as in Valentine’s Day?
Me: Friday as in Friday.
Sloane: I’m hosting an erotic author for a sexy, adults-only event at the library.
Me: And after?
Sloane: I guess after I’ll be training on your very large penis.
Me: For science.
Emry: Sacha said yes to the symphony.
Me: Congratulations. You’re one step closer to ending your bachelorhood.
Emry: I don’t know how to date in this day and age. Do I bring her flowers or wine? Is a corsage acceptable? If she texts me should I respond with an emoji or a gif? How much body hair is acceptable on a man these days?
The image consultants on the screen on the wall above the conference table were annoying me with their inability to agree on how best to begin championing Sheila Chandra to the national media. I was about to tell them so when Petula signaled me from the door.
I gestured for Nolan to take over.
“Look, folks. We’re not trying to turn her into a completely different person and alienate her from the following she’s already built,” he began more politely than I would have.
“Grace from security needs a face-to-face,” Petula explained when I joined her in the hallway.
That was never a good thing. Except for the time Grace told me she was pregnant with twins. One look at my head of security’s face when I entered my office, and I knew this had nothing to do with maternity leave.
Grace wore a black suit, tactical boots, and a frown on her lovely face. Her black hair was tamed into its usual sleek bun that had been part of her uniform before I’d poached her from the Secret Service. “We’ve got a problem,” she announced without preamble.
Petula shut the door and left us alone.
“What is it?”
“We found a tracking device on your vehicle during our weekly sweep.”
“Which one?” I asked, aware that such a “rich guy” question would have Sloane rolling her eyes.
“The Escalade. I had the team sweep your personal vehicles as well, but they were all clear.”
Relief coursed through me. I’d driven the Range Rover to Knockemout. I could have led Hugo straight to Sloane.
“Did you remove it?” I asked tersely.
Grace’s lips curved. “Not yet. I figured you might want to take the opportunity to fuck with Hugo and his men, sir. My team is going over all the employee vehicles in the garage as we speak. Once we’re satisfied, we’ll do a bug sweep of your home and offices.”
“Good. Increase security here at the office while I figure out how to use this against Hugo.”
26
Dewey Decimal Justice
Sloane
Atiny groan escaped me as I maneuvered the cart into the reference section and pulled a volume at random off the shelf. My entire body hurt. It was distracting me from my Monday. And by “it,” I meant Lucian Rollins. My nemesis. The man who had fucked me into oblivion, promised to never call, and then made a date with me for Valentine’s Day.