When she walks into the café, the afternoon light catches in her hair, throwing copper threads through the dark. She drops into the chair across from me without saying a word, sliding her sunglasses onto the table.
“This is dangerous,” she says, unwrapping her straw. “We keep meeting like this, people are going to start talking.”
I lift my cup, meet her eyes over the rim. “Let them.”
She stirs her drink lazily, watching me over the edge of the cup. “So, if this isn’t a strategy meeting, what is it?”
“Call it… an experiment," I say, leaning back. “Seeing how well you operate without the war map between us.”
Her brow arches. “And?”
“You’re tolerable.” I let it hang there just long enough before adding, “Almost pleasant.”
She laughs into her cup. “Dangerous territory, Widow—sounds a lot like a compliment.”
I shrug. “Dangerous is kind of our thing.”
We drift into the easy stuff again, a story about a client who tried to pay her in vintage jewelry, and how I once got locked in Carrington Caskets for an hour after hours because the security system glitched. She smirks through most of it, but I catch the way she tilts her head when she’s actually listening.
When the conversation finally tilts back toward Donovan, it’s slower, less urgent. I tell her about the cash withdrawals from our joint account—never much at once, but enough to add up.I told her about following his phone pings and how they never lined up with where he said he was. What I don’t tell her is where that trail points, or what it could mean for the funding he’s supposed to be protecting.
As we get up to leave, she rests a hand briefly on my forearm. “Next time, you’re buying.”
I glance at her hand before she pulls it back. “Next time, you’re calling me first.”
Her smile curves, deliberate this time. “We’ll see.”
It’s late when my phone lights up. It's not too late, but it's enough that I check the name twice before answering.
“Widow,” Elaine says by way of greeting, voice low and unhurried. I can hear faint music in the background, the kind you only get from a bar with more bottles than customers.
“Is this a business call?” I ask, leaning against the kitchen counter.
“Could be. Depends on how you define business.”
I can almost picture her smirk, the way her lipstick probably hasn’t worn off entirely. “Then enlighten me.”
She exhales, a sound halfway between a sigh and a laugh. “I was going through my notes, trying to connect a few dots, and realized you’d already done half the work I was about to waste my night on. Figured that earned you a drink.”
“Now?”
“Unless you’re busy.”
I glance at the papers spread across my table—Donovan's schedule, the phone logs, the half-empty wine glass. “Not anymore.”
There’s a pause on her end, but it’s warm, not awkward. “Good. I’ll text you the address.”
Before she hangs up, I catch the faint clink of glass against glass, and then: “Wear something that makes you look like you’re not planning a felony.”
The line clicks dead before I can answer.
It’s a meeting. A strategy session. Still, I changed twice.
The first dress feels too obvious—like I’m trying. The second is too sharp, too much like the version of me who has a board meeting in the morning.
I settle on tight jeans and a silk cami, a blazer thrown over the top like an afterthought. I pretend I’m not wondering if Elaine will notice the shoes.
By the time I’m in the car, I’m irritated with myself. I haven’t second-guessed an outfit since… hell, maybe college. But the thought of walking into some dimly lit corner booth and seeing that smirk aimed at me has me checking my reflection in the rearview one last time.
