“What’s wrong?”Adrien’s fingers lightly brush my shoulder, then he caresses my cheek as he stands beside me, choosing not to sit.
I inhale deeply, clearing the fog and settling the uncertainty.“Nothing.Let’s do this.We’re about a five-minute walk away.”He studies me like he knows I’m lying.Maybe he does.Maybe he loves that I still can.
The black iron gate lifts out of cobblestone like a secret kept too long.It groans as it opens, old metal confessing everything it’s seen.Ivy climbs the pillars; dappled light freckles the path.Even the air smells restrained—wet stone, moss, and wealth.
The townhouse-turned-five-star inn is a whispered Paris secret, and Quinn flagged that it can be booked outright.She believes Moira has it through the weekend.
Is it chance that we arrived when she has it reserved?Or is she that connected?
We’ll likely never know, and it’s not particularly relevant.
I scan the skyline and the old stone wall, covered in a mix of healthy and dead ivy, searching for eyes.Footsteps on stone blend with birdsong, as the scent of earth mixes with car exhaust.A man in black trousers, tuxedo coat, wingtips, and white gloves approaches.
“He needs a top hat, doesn’t he?”I murmur.Adrien’s mouth twitches; tension breaks for a heartbeat before knitting again.
As the middle-aged man grows closer, I study his profile, searching for weapons.I don’t see one, but he could easily have one tucked away.The gate creaks.“Please, come in,” he says, and my gaze lifts to the camera perched on the pillar.He doesn’t ask our names.Someone’s watching and already knows.
The man locks the gate behind us while we stand patiently to the side.“Follow me,” he says, taking the lead along the path and never once glancing over his shoulder.
We pass small white iron café tables and chairs with red cushion seats, the colors standing out among the winter garden over evergreens and step through glass doors into a hallway.The absence of others is eerie, if only because I’m positive others are watching, even if it’s only through a lens.Silence here isn’t emptiness—it’s curated, the hush of money buying invisibility.
Adrien remains close to my side, his hand often brushing my lower back, protective in his closeness.Each touch a Morse code of reassurance I pretend not to need.
I appreciate the sensation, but I’m also fully aware that if we find ourselves in a situation that requires hand-to-hand combat, I’m the one with Krav Maga training, and I will not allow him to use his body as a shield.
The tuxedoed man leads us through a series of salons before arriving at a book-lined room.A long brown leather sofa sits on one wall, and a high back velvet armchair in the corner.In the chair sits an older woman with sparkling blue eyes, platinum blonde hair cut in a blunt, sharp-angled bob.Her long black skirt nearly reaches the ground, and black leather shoes with rounded toes peek beneath the hem.The periwinkle sweater with a boatneck softens her appearance, and it’s difficult to align this person with a woman rumored to have built an organization others fear.The room smells faintly of spritzed perfume and old paper—refinement masking rot.
She doesn’t rise as we enter.Power measured not in movement but in the certainty she doesn’t have to.
One door behind us stands open; a hidden panel in the bookcase is cracked; a third door at the back is closed.If I were placing a team, I’d put one behind each of the latter two.
“May I get anything for you?”the tuxedoed man asks the room.
“We’re fine, Charles.Thank you,” Moira Kelly answers.“You may close the door behind you.We won’t be long.”
To us, she says, “Please, sit.”Her gesturing palm is a small invitation that doesn’t reach her eyes.Those eyes could catalog sins faster than any database.Now I see what connected looks like: a woman whose stillness makes the air obey.
Her gaze lingers a beat too long on my tote.She waits until Adrien and I are seated to begin.
“I don’t normally take meetings.But your father and I… I’ll make an exception for him.As a favor.”She crosses one leg over the other, then rests one palm over her knee, and the other palm over the hand, posture erect, shoulders back, eyes sharp and astute.“I suspect this will be a waste of your time, but I sensed you wouldn’t accept me at my word unless we met in person.”
“What did my father tell you?”Adrien asks.
“It’s not so much what your father said, but what I’ve learned about you over the years.You see, Adrien, I’m in the business of knowledge.I’ve watched you grow from afar.”She smiles.“I have observed you since your toddler days.”
“Then you already know why I’m here.”
“Why don’t you tell me why you’re here.I won’t ask you to explain Ms.Anderson’s presence.I know why she’s here.She’s your security.”Her gaze travels to the cracked door.“I’m not alone either.I don’t know what you’ve heard, but I’m also not a monster.You’re safe.I have no plans to harm you.”
“I don’t believe my father would set up this meeting if he believed you would harm his only living son.”
Her lips press together, thoughtful.“And your reason for coming all this way?’
“You’ve been profiting from my business.”
“So I have.”Now, she smiles.“People are most honest when they feel beautiful and desired.”Her voice strokes the worddesiredlike silk over skin, and for a second I understand how she built a business out of closeted confession.“Your facilities create an environment where people feel beautiful, desired, and safe.But, your locations are one of many sources I possess.”
“Yes.That’s what I came to talk to you about.”
