Bishop exhales harshly, dragging a hand down his jaw. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.” He turns on me, jabbing a finger into my chest. “So you expect me to tell Ma that our brilliant fix for the jobyoufucked up is cutting in some girl who calls herself a freelance designer over roast dinner?”
I swallow down the surge of heat swelling inside my chest. Shame coats the inside of my mouth, and I’d rather taste the peppery burn of anger instead. Much more palatable. “Yeah, Idid the recon on that job, and I fucked up. I obviously missed something.”
“Or she’s just that good,” Rafe drawls, like the idea sits pleasantly under his skin.
I dip my chin once. “Maybe. But I’m not here making excuses. I’m here with a way to make it right.” I meet Bishop’s glare head-on. “We’re not bringing her in on the job. We’re asking her to work with us.”
Bishop stills. Then he laughs, the sound mean and sharp. What an asshole. “Goddamn, Gage. You’re going through an awful lot just to fuck some girl?—”
I step forward before I think better of it, crowding his space. “Watch it, brother.”
“The timing is real convenient,brother,” Bishop practically sneers. “That’s all I’m saying.”
My hands curl at my sides, knuckles whitening as Bishop's insinuation hangs in the air between us. I force a slow breath through my nose. Something hot and dangerous crawls up my spine, but I swallow it back down. I don’t want to fight with him today.
“Go on,” I say quietly. I hold his gaze, unblinking. “Say what you actually mean.”
His shoulders lift a fraction, tension winding tight. When he speaks again, his voice is controlled to the point of menace. “Any other secrets you wanna confess while we’re at it?”
A dry laugh scrapes out, and I shake my head. The irony is too good. “Nah, you and Coco have the market cornered.”
Rafe steps between us, his hands landing on our shoulders with enough force that I grunt.
Bishop's jaw twitches under the pressure of Rafe's grip. Mine does too.
The air still crackles, but Rafe's voice cuts through it. “So what's the plan, Gage?”
I drag in a breath. The anger doesn’t disappear, but it shifts, sharpening into something usable. “Next, we convince Bellamy to work with us.”
Bishop shoves Rafe off and drags his fingers through his hair. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me. All of this—and she’s not even on board yet?”
“Gotta start somewhere.” There’s no backing out now. I don’t pretend otherwise.
Cruz snorts. “And how exactly are you planning to pull that off?”
“Simple.” I lift one shoulder, casual on the surface. Inside, everything hums. “We tell her the truth.”
Rafe stares at me like he’s watching a car crash in slow motion.
I don’t have a timeline. I don’t have a guarantee. What I have is instinct. And the knowledge that Bellamy Hale doesn’t scare easily, doesn’t miss much—or she didn’t.
And I have to believe that she doesn’t waste time on jobs that won’t pay.
“When and where?” Rafe asks.
“I’ll set the meet,” I say. “All of us there. No bullshit.” My gaze flicks to Bishop. “We treat it like business as usual.”
Bishop scoffs. “Businesswould be letting me and Cruz handle this and keeping you out of it so you don’t getdistracted.”
“Might I suggest,” Rafe says, lifting his brows. “That Bishop sits this one out?”
“Fuck off, Rafe,” Bishop grumbles, but there’s significantly less heat in it.
“He’ll be fine, won’t you, brother?” Cruz says, jerking his chin at him.
Bishop exhales. “Coco’s never going to go for it.”
My mouth curves, tight and sure. “She will once she hears the take.”
