Anton doesn’t bristle. Doesn’t snap. He just watches me, head tilted the barest degree, and for one terrifying second, I think he looks… impressed. Like I’ve surprised him. Like this is a side of me he didn’t expect.
Even Jasper seems thrown. Fierce Mary has entered the chat.
“Go,” I hiss, yanking my purse strap over my shoulder. “All of you. I have a job, remember? Like a normal human being?”
Lev grins, tossing Jasper a wink on his way out. “Nice meeting you, Angel.”
Jasper clutches his chest. “I’m going to need a cigarette after this.”
Dima and Boris follow, silent shadows sliding past.
Anton lingers, eyes locked on mine, a silent promise that I’m not shaking him off so easily. My pulse stumbles. Then he turns and stalks after the others, leaving me alone with Jasper, who immediately rounds on me.
“Okay,” he breathes, fanning himself with Lev’s abandoned napkin. “So, I leave for Milan for… what? Twenty-six days, tops. I come back into town to find you,” he gestures vaguely at the booth, at the plates, at the ghosts of four very illegal men, “hosting brunch with what looked like a hit-squad audition forGQ. Tattoos. Boots polished within an inch of their lives. One of them literally wiped syrup off his Glock with a napkin, Mare. What the actual fuck?”
Shit. What do I tell him? Jasper’s too sharp; he’ll cut straight through me. And I can’t risk him getting dragged into the same danger that’s already breathing down my neck.
“I told you…” My fingers twist the Cartier watch on my wrist, then the bracelet stacked beside it. Cold metal bites against my skin, a reminder that I’m not alone here—not really. He could be listening. Right now.
“They’re… customers,” I whisper.
“Customers.” Jasper’s laugh is bone-dry. “Darling, unless you’ve switched to managing accounts forMurder, Inc., those were not customers. That was a lineup.” His gaze flicks down, catching on the watch. One brow arches. “Since when do you accessorize in Cartier? Did I miss a personality transplant while I was gone?”
My pulse skips. I grab my mug, desperate for distraction, but it’s empty. I cough into it like an idiot and slam it back down, sighing hard enough to fog glass.
“They’re just—” My throat jams. “They’re… friends.”
“Friends.” He drags the word out like it’s been marinated in bleach. Then he leans closer, eyes glittering. “Friends who all look like they could bench-press a small car? Friends who don’t even blink when I sit down at their table? Mare, I’ve met your book club. These are not your book club.”
“Ha, ha, ha.” The sound scrapes out of me so fake that even my jaw cramps from the effort. I push my chair back, check the Cartier watch like it’s suddenly screaming at me. I’m late. Of course I’m late.
“I have to go.” I snatch my purse, already half-standing. “Work. Normal job. Remember? I’ll… I’ll catch you up when the time’s right.”
“When the time’s right?” His brows shoot up. “You sound like someone about to announce a pregnancy at Thanksgiving.”
“I’m serious, Jas.” My voice comes out tighter than I want. “Not now. Please.”
He watches me, quiet for once, then tilts his head, lips curving into that sharp little smile that says he’s already dissected every nerve in my body.
“Darling. Please. Are you sleeping with the man who stared at you like you were the last sin left on earth?”
16
Mary
The lobby smells like over-brewed coffee and floor wax, and Jasper’s voice won’t leave me alone.Are you sleeping with the one who stared at you like you were the last sin left on earth?
If he knew the truth, he’d storm in with a roll of duct tape and a rosé spritzer, pin me to the couch, and call it an intervention. Cheeseboard optional.
My fingers tighten on the Cartier on my wrist. Nope. He doesn’t get to know. Not this. Not when knowing could kill him.
The morning airlock hisses closed behind me, and like clockwork, Steph and Janice come click-clacking in on their knockoff Louboutins. Of course. Two minutes before shift, likeme, except they’re laughing too loudly at something on Janice’s phone.
Steph tosses her hair. “If I don’t get invited to the Starlight Gala this year, I swear to God I’m quitting.”
Janice gasps like it’s breaking news. “You wouldn’t. You’re the star around here, Steph. Honestly, if anyone’s getting tapped for that guest list, it’s you. They need someone who can actually look good under a chandelier.”
They breeze right past me like I’m furniture, heels stabbing against tile, laughing to themselves.
