“Many,” I said.
“Cantonese?”
The question, especially on the heels of that little test, set off alarm bells, but I lied smoothly, “Alas, no. The Asian languages elude me.”
“That's understandable, they are distinctly different,” he murmured.
If this was one of our supe sellers, I didn't want him to know that I could understand him if he spoke Cantonese. Better to let your enemies underestimate you.
“Doyouspeak Cantonese, Bishop?” one of the other men asked.
That wasn't his first name, but his last. These power-businessmen loved to call each other by their surnames, as if they were soldiers in the military. I suppose I shouldn't mock them since I'd picked up the habit as well and had been thinking of Edward as Leshing for most of our acquaintance. But I think that was more appropriate for me than for a man whose only military experience was driving past an army base.
“Fluently,” Bishop answered with a smirk.
I scanned his aura and wasn't surprised to find a healthy dose of crocodile-green greed in it. I didn't see any pure black evil, but that rarely happened. Even hardened criminals usually lacked a smear of evil. You had to be truly heinous for your aura to be tainted like that. I did, however, see a splash of sunrise-orange curiosity. It was leaning toward butterscotch suspicion but hadn't gotten there yet. He could have simply been a curious colleague of Edward's who happened to know Cantonese. I suppose it wasn't too surprising for a man who doubtlessly worked with many people from different countries. Although, the better choice for a businessman would have been Mandarin, which was more widely spoken in China. This man was ringing all sorts of warning bells for me.
Then Bishop said something scathing about my body in Cantonese. Basically calling me fat—a ridiculous comment for the body type I'd gone with, but that was probably the point. He was trying to shock me into revealing that I knew the language. I gave him a soft smile, responding to the tone of his voice instead of his words.
“That sounded pretty,” I noted. “What does it mean?”
The curiosity faded from his aura, but I had no doubt that my aura was splattered with butterscotch-yellow.
A casual acquaintance of Leshing's wouldn't have bothered to test me like that. There was something up with Magnus Bishop. The name alone was a red flag. Who named their child Magnus? It was likely an alias, and one I'd ask Alex to look into.
“Just a common phrase,” Bishop said with a shrug. “Forgive my braggadocio, it's the only language I know besides English and it hardly impresses my Chinese business associates.”
“Not at all.” I smiled vapidly. Dear Danu, the man had used the word braggadocio; even I thought that was pretentious. “I love it when men show off. It evens things out a bit.”
“Evens them out?” Bishop frowned.
“Women are always primping and posing for you men.” I shifted sideways and smiled at him dramatically over one shoulder, giving him a pose to prove my point. “It's nice to have men put some effort into making themselves more attractive for us.”
Pumpkin fascination bloomed over Bishop as he smiled. “And you think that knowing other languages makes a man more attractive?”
“It's a sign of intellect, isn't it?” I lifted a brow at him. “Of course, it makes you more attractive.” I looked over his fit physique shown off in a tailored Brooks Brothers suit, his moderately handsome face, and thick brown hair as if reconsidering his appeal. “Yes, definitely,” I concluded.
Bishop let out a bark of laughter, then said to Leshing, “Where did you find this gem?”
“Ifoundhim,” I declared before Leshing could say anything. I wrapped a possessive arm around his bicep and added, “He was at the gala to benefit the BGCA when I spotted him and circled in like a shark.”
“And here I thought I'd spotted you,” Leshing joked.
“That's what Iwantedyou to think.” I smiled up at him adoringly.
“They chase us until we catch them,” Bishop said to Leshing.
“If we're lucky,” Leshing shot back.
“Indeed,” Bishop said. “It was lovely to meet you, Ms. Redding.”
“You as well, Mr. Bishop.”
I watched Bishop's aura as he walked away; robin's egg blue calm spread over it. That sudden calm, above all else, made him a suspect in my eyes. I was nearly certain that I'd just met one of the magic sellers, and I was absolutely certain that he was a dick.
Chapter Thirteen
“I think they're friends of Cyprian Alexander's,” a woman's voice filtered into my bathroom stall.
