“We cannot fuck here, Art,” I said.
“And that’s why I miss us, because you would’ve turned me over, ate my ass, then gone right to fucking it,” he said, now twitching and struggling to get out of the hold I had him in.
A knock at the bedroom door outside, followed by Maya clearing her throat to ask us where we’d gotten to. I was quick to release Art and stand upright. We definitely couldn’t fuck, but now it’s all I could think about.
***
Jinksy gave us both an earful once our comms were back in, he must’ve gotten it from Mercy, who’d left a message on the phone I had in the briefcase, untouched, I was a professional, what did I need a phone for? Taking selfies? Scrolling social media?
We were stationed outside the guest bedroom, trying to reply to Jinksy but also very much listening in on what they were talking about inside the room. I’d tried to get one of us to go in with her, but the lawyer refused at every attempt.
“Fifty million,” Artemis whispered, his mouth opening wide with shock.
“What for?”
“A lawsuit,” he continued in a whisper.
“Keep listening,” I whispered back. This was his true calling, to gossip, to probably get arrested one day for insider trading, that was the life I saw for him—only to have him bailed out by the rich businessman he’d managed to find. I’d wanted that for him, once upon a time, but now, he was mine. All of him, completely. “We’ll need to make notes for Mercy later.”
“Really?” His face scrunched up slightly. I saw how he’d already become jaded to her and the organization. He didn’t know what he was signing up for. “Why?”
I rubbed my fingers and thumbs together. “She pays.”
He giggled, clapping a hand over his mouth to keep himself from making anymore sound. I knew that would have him paying more attention.
“You’ll both be properly debriefed the next time you arrive,” Jinksy said. “And Mercy is going to want a good excuse as to why the two of you had your comms out most of the night.”
Maybe Mercy didn’t need to know all about the night we had together on the sofa. I’d tell her, in detail, if she asked, but it was probably best that she didn’t know how I sometimes like a bit of finger inside my ass when receiving head.
We stood around for a while, the noise inside the room got louder at times. I heard some of it. The Ashford family were threatening to sue her for fifty million if she went ahead and published the article. They also demanded removal of allunverifiedtrafficking allegations. Of course, it was unverified, they had those people brought over through so many shell corps, they had their handscleanso to speak.
The bedroom door crashed open with Maya clopping out in her high heels. The lawyer chased after her, carrying an open laptop with faces on a group call staring out. “I don’t care if they sue me, the article goes out, which should force the FBI to show their hand with all the information I’ve given them,” shesaid. “My benefactor is ready to back me with any suit, and any amount. Just do your jobs.”
Following after her, the glee in Artemis’s eyes from the up close and personal gossip. But still, no sign of finding out who this benevolent billionaire—assuming so since they had some deep pockets to offer her any amount of money.
She went right to the dining room for leftover breakfast. While in there, Artemis palmed some of the sausages and just chowed down on them almost feral. I wished he’d go at my sausage with the same ferocity, maybe less teeth, but same passion.
“What?” he asked me, his cheeks stuffed with sausage. “I’m eating.”
“Please could you leave the dining room,” the lawyer asked. “We need to finish this meeting.”
Maya sat at the head of the dining table, pouring hot syrup over a pancake stack. “No, they can stay,” she said. “As long as one of them gets me a mimosa, hold the orange juice.”
Art shrugged, leaving the task of being a waiter to me. I sucked it up, this would all be over soon. I grabbed a bottle of champagne, popped the cork, which had a number of squeals in response—shock from the lawyer, excitement from Maya, and disappointment from Artemis.
“Don’t make this a habit,” I said to Maya as I poured it into one of the long flute glasses. “I’m your protection detail.”
“I know, I know,” she said, slicing through the pancake stack. Not even listening to the chatter through the video call the lawyer was trying desperate to push in front of her face. “But thank you, I appreciate it.”
I saw the lawyer eyeing the bottle in my hand. “You want some?”
She laughed. “Please.”
“No, no,” Maya said. “Ms. Davies needs to stay sober.”
“I’m not Ms. Davies,” she said. “I’m Maura Beck.”
Maya shook her head as she looked from me to her lawyer, and back again. “Ms. Beck, your—”
