And that would make everything okay.
“Yeah, I get it, Kenton,” I drawled. “You’re threatening me. And just because your ears don’t seem to be working…I’ll repeat myself. I’m not for sale.”
Something flickered behind his smile—irritation, maybe. He was about to respond when the conference door suddenly creaked open.
Both of us turned.
Standing in the doorway was a man I knew.
Tall, blonde…an expensive, fitted suit. An annoying smirk on his lips that was just like his brother’s.
Jagger.
Jace’s older brother leaned one shoulder against the doorframe like he had all the time in the world, his hair catching the overhead lights, brown eyes glinting with something amused. He gave me a lazy wink before turning that same expression on Kenton.
“Now, what’s this?” he drawled, his tone smooth as honey and twice as dangerous. “Are you giving my friend Matthew here a hard time?”
Kenton froze. The color drained from his face so fast it was almost impressive. “N-no,” he stammered, straightening in his chair. “Of course not. Just a miscommunication.” His eyes darted to me in full-blown panic, as if I might save him. “That’s all. Just a misunderstanding.”
Jagger pushed off the doorframe, taking one unhurried step into the room, then another. “A miscommunication,” he repeated softly, like he was tasting the word. “Is that so?”
Kenton nodded frantically. “Yes, absolutely. I was just leaving.”
He shoved his chair back so fast it screeched against the floor, but before he could reach the door, Jagger moved, quick and smooth, blocking his path with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
“You’re never going to contact him again, are you, Kenton?”
Kenton’s throat bobbed. “N-no.”
Jagger tilted his head, still smiling. “No, what?”
Kenton’s voice cracked. “No, sir.”
“Good man.” Jagger’s grin widened, all teeth. He stepped aside with mock politeness, gesturing toward the open doorway. “See yourself out.”
Kenton didn’t have to be told twice. He practically bolted, the door banging shut behind him.
Silence fell for a second as I stared dumbfounded at Jagger. He straightened his cuff with a faint smirk. “That counts as your Christmas present, Adler.”
My brain…and my tongue, finally started working again. “Holy shit, Thatcher. That was incredible. But I have so many questions.”
Footsteps echoed from down the hall, and Jace strolled into the room, helmet hair still damp from practice, a grin already tugging at his mouth.
“Yeah, I bet you do,” he said, clapping a hand on my shoulder before nodding toward his brother. “You’re welcome, by the way. I told him what was going on, but I didn’t tell him to, you know—go full James Bond about it.”
Jagger rolled his eyes. “James Bond doesn’t threaten people in conference rooms, Jace.”
“Sure he does,” Jace said cheerfully. “It’s just off-screen. You’re like…Bond with anger management issues.”
“I don’t have anger management issues.”
“Yeah, you just scare the piss out of grown men for sport,” Jace shot back. “Totally normal, totally…”
“Don’t say it,” Jagger growled.
“Don’t say what?” said Jace innocently.
“Don’t say mafia,” he snapped before freezing and then wiping a hand down his face. “Fucking hell.”
