Marcus huffs a laugh. “Yeah. That’s cute. But you two have been ‘working on it’ for what—three years? Four?”
“Five.” I saw too quickly. Too quietly.
The silence stretches. Tighter. Heavier.
“You need more thanworking on it,” Marcus says, direct.
Damien doesn’t argue. He just reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a sleek, matte-black card holder, taking a card from the back.
He slides it across the desk like a challenge.
Grant doesn’t touch it. Doesn’t even look at it.
I do.
Of course I do. Because I’d know that logo anywhere—three words in gold foil that, in some circles, can open any door you need. Even one that leads straight to Hell.
The Black Ledger.
“Ask for Eve Sterling,” Damien says. “She’s not just a Companion. She fixes things—relationships, reputations, business disasters… whatever the fuck this is.” He motions between Grant and me.
Grant laughs under his breath—dry, cold—then finally looks at the card. “I know this is an elite escort agency to the rich and filthy rich. You want us to screw our problems away?”
“No,” Damien says. “I want you to stop dragging them into my boardroom. How you get there is your business. And if anyone can handle you two assholes, it’s her.”
Marcus leans back, arms folded. “You’re not the only firm in Manhattan. Just the one with the longest history with Wolfe. Don’t make it the shortest future.”
Grant rubs a hand over his face and mutters, “We’ll handle it.”
But I catch the flick of his eyes down to his phone screen. He reads a message. Doesn’t reply. Just locks it and slides it back into his pocket.
Corrine again.
Always fucking Corrine.
She’s a constant stick up his ass, and if it weren’t for Frankie, she’d try to pull her same shit on me. That’s one of the reasons I’ll never let Frankie work for anyone else but me.
She doesn’t just bust my balls—she busts Corrine’s too.
I turn slowly, taking my time. The card stays on the table. Untouched. Daring.
I give Damien a nod—polite enough to pass. “Thanks for the drink.”
Damien watches me with that sharp, knowing edge. “You know where to find her.”
I do.
And I will.
Because if the only way to beat Grant is to get him to stop playing by the rules?—
Then maybe it’s time I flip the goddamn board.
I’ve been staring out the window for hours.
The city keeps moving like it always does—horns, sirens, the occasional helicopter slicing through the June haze—but I don’t really see any of it. Just a smear of noise and glass. Distraction pretending to be focus.
Dante left Wolfe Tower in some dramatic storm-out. Didn’t say where he was going. Typical. Theatrics over substance. He’ll probably show back up whenever it suits him with that smug, untouchable air like none of this matters.
