Ourplayground. The Underground.
This is where I ensure our employes are satisfied. They spend their lives serving the rich and wicked. If anyone deserves a refuge, it’s them. My methods are a bit out of the box, but our employees are practically a cult. No one leaves. Very few want to.And because of our stellar reputation and high pay, the line to get in is a mile long and currently limited to nepotism.
It’s mostly empty at this time of day, except for a lunch area, a few blackjack and poker tables, a bar, and a coffee nook, filled with employees on break.
Axel: The workers’ comp I’m referring to is Dan Smith’s ankle injury.
Me: That’s a really common name.
Ryker: Not here.
Cash: If he didn’t get injured here, why is it workers’ comp?
Twisting the meaning of their arguments is one of the many methods we use to wear them down.
Ryker: ghybj
Axel and Ryker peter out after enough diversion, but that seems a bit much.
Me: ???
Ryker: That was Remy.
Cash: The homeschooling is really paying off, bro.
I snicker at that. Cash is always quick. On the way to my office, Brasi steps aside to talk to one of our employees. AndGentry takes a call. He stays with us, but he’s engrossed in his conversation.
Bernard commandeers the opportunity, gripping my elbow after I scan my iris and we step inside my sanctuary, which is similar to our security room upstairs, with wall-to-wall monitors, but on a much smaller scale. “I thought you’d want to know that Dimitri Makarov is expected to be arriving after the holiday.”
Ahh. So, that’s the catalyst for Bernard joining us today and why he stuck around for the entire jaunt. Don’t ask me how he knows that would be of any significance to me. Bernard is the truest gangster of us all.
Without divulging the level of interest that ignites in me, I take my seat and flick on my screens so I have eyes on my employees, eagerly searching for one in particular. “Reason for visit?”
“His son.”
Fuck.
Before I can respond, another text comes through.
Axel: Nothing to say about this claim?
My mother would have broken into a rendition of Daniel Powter’s “Bad Day” right about now, so even though that’s not what’s in my ear, that’s what I hear. It’s a brief cushioning to the anxiety building in my chest.
“Thanks, Bernard.” I tap my phone, which he surely knows is Axel. “I need to handle this. Let Brasi and Gentry know we’re good. And shut my door.”
He nods, pats me on the shoulder, and ambles on his way.
“Oh, and, Bernard?”
“Yes, sir?”
“This summer is a hot one.” I kick my feet up on the desk and briefly flip my gaze from the sea of employees to the man in the threshold. “Ryker said the heat is really bad for you.”
His old-man salt-and-pepper mustache ripples over his lips. “Duly noted. I don’t enjoy the heat as much as I used to. But he was likely referring to the dog again.”
“Ahh.” I shake my finger at him in agood pointgesture. “There are so many similarities. It’s hard to keep you two straight.”
“Naturally,” he drawls before shutting me inside to deal with this shit.
