“Miss Laud – I mean Mrs. Farrow, are you sure?” She chews her lip, “I mean isn’t this, I don’t know, beneath you?”
I scoff, “Absolutely not. I’d love to do this.”
“Well okay,” She follows me into the room, “The portfolio is on the table,” She points, “I don’t think everything is ready though. I’m worried we will have to postpone it. It’s next week!”
“I’ve got it,” I assure her, “We won’t be postponing. Did Mr. Farrow have specifics on the event?”
“No, just that it’s held here.”
“Perfect,” I nod, mostly to myself.
“Can I get you coffee?”
I shake my head, “I’m good, I’ll grab one in a minute. Just leave it all to me.”
She gives me an unsure smile and heads off with the paperwork, leaving me staring at the mess on the board. Nope, this just won’t do.
First coffee, and then I’ll get to work.
I’m at the coffee machine in the staff kitchen when I get a call.
Pulling out my cell, I grin at Willow’s name, excitedto tell her I’ll be planning the event. She’ll get involved; I know she will.
“Oli,” she says before I can get in a greeting, sounding breathless.
“You okay?” I ask, concerned.
“Fine,” She huffs, “Did you hear?”
“Hear what?” I hit the button to begin to pour my coffee, watching the dark liquid sputter out the nozzle.
“Bradley.” She says his name with a bite, but it’s not as coated in venom as it usually is. She usually refers to him as the ‘prick who shall not be named’.
“What about him?” I mentally swat at the memories that instantly bloom with his name, tackling the fresher ones from the recent images that had been dug up.
“He’s dead.”
Chapter Twenty-five
“Skiing accident,” Sebastian leans back, a cruel grin spreading across his face, “How tragic.”
Killian chuckles as he throws down the folder onto my desk, Dean following him in. They both take their seats on the couches in front of the fire, Sebastian still grinning like a fool.
“You did the job?” I ask Killian who reaches for the whiskey in the middle of the table. I made sure to put out a bottle, so the fuckers don’t touch my shit.
“Pushed that fucker right off the edge of the cliff,” Dean tells me proudly.
“Well, I asked for an accident,” I shrug, flipping the cover on the folder.
The gruesome image of Bradley Vermont, the Third, with his head busted open, blood staining the pristine white snow is the first thing I see. His body is contorted at an awkward angle, skin pale with darksplotches, eyes wide open as he stares unseeingly toward the forest.
“Poor guy,” Killian shakes his head, “Never saw the drop coming. You’d expect more for a seasoned skier.”
Sebastian chuckles.
“I should be worried about how much fun you sick fucks have on a job,” I grin, closing the folder and open my laptop, hitting the button to wire over the money, split between the three of them.
Killian shrugs as he sips his whiskey and then reaches for the poker set beneath the table.
