And now there was a new kid. Maslow hadn’t told me his name, but I figured it’d be pretty obvious when someone came out in tights doing acrobatic bullshit.
The waitress reached a break in her conversation with Livingston, which gave me a chance to cut in.
“Is Luxe working tonight?”
The girl turned toward me, then tittered a laugh. “He works every night.”
“Where?” I gestured to the other glass-fronted rooms. I didn’t spot the dancer at a glance, but that was no surprise given tonight’s crowd.
The waitress giggled again. “I’ll send him your way. Can I get you some drinks while you wait?”
Livingston edged into the conversation, brushing against me and assaulting me with the musky smell of his cologne.
“What do you recommend?” he asked.
Wrong question whileIwas footing the bill. But Livingston nodded blithely along while the waitress spouted off details about the club’s bottle service, signature cocktails, and the Seven Deadly Sins flight that got his mouth watering.
“We’ll take that,” he said.
Anotherupcharge.
My jaw ticked.
The waitress smiled. “Anything else?”
“God, I hope not.” My grumble caused her cheer to fade while Livingston went to take a seat on the curved couch inside the suite. There he sprawled with his legs spread, as if anticipating having a body between them.
I turned back to the waitress, who was waiting. I shouldn’t have wondered what for. Everyone, everywhere, had their hand out, and I’d been hemorrhaging cash all night.
I pressed a bill into her hand, hoping it was enough to cover the undoubtedly overpriced flight, and she was off at a trot.
With another heavy breath, I turned from the Western showdown on the stage and faced my client. He was really settled in, eyeing the table in the center of the room with a pole running through it.
It was quieter in here, and I could hear my own thoughts again. Besides the couch and pole, a small side table held the drink menu, and a corded phone was mounted on the wall. The colors were all jewel tones, and mostly dark. People tended to prefer anonymity when feasting their eyes. Livingston was brazen, and I was vaguely concerned about what I’d gotten Luxe into by calling him up here.
But the sassy twink knew how to maintain boundaries. I’d seen him run more than one handsy customer out of the club, and it was amusing as fuck. I wouldn’t have hated it if Livingston was the next aggressive asshole to be shown the door, but I needed to get to the matter at hand first.
It hadn’t just been a dry spell since my last sexual encounter. It had been a long while since I’d cut my last deal too. Blame it on increased competition in the field ormy own decreased interest. Either way, I was overdue, and since Livingston had practically thrown himself at me, this was as good a reason as any to get back in the game.
“So, Ewing,” I began, drawing the other man’s attention. “It’s been a long night. You must be eager to discuss what brought you all the way out here. It seemed urgent.”
Livingston’s mouth bent in a frown, and his previously relaxed posture stiffened. “It is,” he admitted. “A bit. I find myself facing potentially harmful allegations.”
That could mean literally anything. From infidelity to embezzlement, I’d been called upon to soothe every kind of scandal. When PR companies failed and people refused to be paid off, I stepped in to pull the strings of the universe.
Between Livingston’s barrage of emails yesterday and his arrival today, I’d done a bit of digging into his business. He was the founder and chief shareholder of Argus Intellisec, a high-tech security company that recently branched into AI-assisted surveillance. It had made big news, so articles had been plentiful. It had also made Livingston a mint from early-bird investors, causing the stocks he’d monologued about for half our drive here to soar.
The other man twitched, looking itchy, already giving guilty cues for a crime he had yet to name.
“Someonebelieves… they found some information, internal records, transaction logs…” He cast a glance toward the stage, where Smolder and Spite were taking their bows. “Supposedly, they have evidence we sold software to private military firms, and they’re threatening to blow the whistle.”
I was a little surprised the informant was well enough to be a concern. And by “well,” I meant alive. Part of me admired that Livingston hadn’t hired a hitman instead of a demon. But maybe what he wanted was more specificthan a kill order. Some tasks required finesse rather than brute force.
“Do you know who the whistleblower is?” I asked.
At that, the other man looked pained. He nodded slowly before replying, “My son.”
My next breath escaped in a cough. So, Livingston Junior caught Daddy glad-handing with mercenary groups, and he didn’t approve. Finesse, for sure.
