That probably won’t be necessary since things are likely going to get ugly. I overheard him and Bernard discussing the media conglomerate and the Gurkha Black Dragon cigar, which is Lev Popov’s favorite. I’ve been doing recon on most of the members staying here—some I already had knowledge about. For instance, I knew that Angelo Barone was Lev Popov’s greatest enemy. He’s here, too, so I’m assuming that was who was in arbitration.
If I dismiss all the other confusing thoughts in my head and focus on my job, I know that might be enough to appease the client for now. It’s a good-faith downpayment to staying alive. Which is the only thing that should matter.
But if anything comes of it, Axel will know it was me who leaked the information. I’d been hiding in the same alcove he stuffed me in because I’d planned to speak with Bernard aboutmy pending membership. He holds several La Lune Noire keys, so I need to bridge things with him, and that was a valid excuse. When Axel took off in the other direction, I left, only to hear someone approaching behind me less than a minute later. When I spun and nearly crashed into him, anxiety, adrenaline, and elation washed over me in equal measure.
Romantic relationships are strongly discouraged among assassins. I thought it was simply because it would be harder to work, to risk your life, to hide a part of who you were from someone you were supposed to be attached to.
“Love, home, and family are the bullets you never see coming,”is the way my father often phrases how treacherous leading that double life is.
Now I’m wondering if it’s because everything feels murky. I’m not even involved with Axel, but I think if he’d kissed me in the hallway and asked me to promise not to report that Lev Popov, Angelo Barone, or this mysterious contact were connected to a media conglomerate, I would have agreed to it. I think I’d be tempted to agree to anything if I were his, which makes him the most dangerous person I’ve ever encountered.
“I’m not particular with the setting,” I clarify to Cash. “A great date can happen anywhere. It’s just rare that I meet someone I feel a magnetic connection to, no matter how wildly attractive and good with his hands he happens to be.”
He chuckles and seamlessly drops the cards into a bridge that spans from the table to above his head, all while winking at me. “At least you admit there’s something fundamentally wrong with you.”
A table of female employees is unashamedly watching him, giggling and blushing and feeding that cockiness. Actually, as I scan the bar, nearly every woman has her eyes glued to him. Although the same was true of Axel in the Italian restaurant and the high-rollers lounge. It’s probably true of all the Noires.
“Yep,” Cash declares, noticing my revelation, regarding him anyway. “It’s just you. And they aren’t being rude. They assume this isn’t anything because we have a rule against dating employees.”
One more reason for Axel to steer clear of me.
“Maddox is married to Tessa, a tattoo artist,” I counter as “Losing My Religion” by R.E.M. booms from the loudspeaker. “And Ryker is married to Mercy, a lawyer on Axel’s executive staff.”
“Noires aren’t known for following rules, but what’s more intriguing is that you seem to have a vested interest in breaking that one”—he peruses the crowded bar and cocks an eyebrow—“despite getting your share of looks from every man here. Why’s that, Zara?”
Breezing past his probing, I put the spotlight back on him, where he likes it. “So, this is how you feed the ego, huh? Anyone uninterested is defective.”
He shrugs. “I’ve never had anyone uninterested.”
“Really?”
“Other than you, but that was expected.” He pauses there, extracting another cherry from the mouth of his beer. “If I wanted to make your knees weak, I could, but I had other reasons for the invite.”
“I gotta tell ya, I get really pissed about people stealing my cherries. Why was me having zero interest in you expected?”
He narrows his eyes, but pushes past that. “There was one girl, who wasveryinterested, but got scared away by the dueling-pianist witchcraft in Café L’Ambroisie. A fluke.”
“A fluke? That’s endearing.” I sip my cocktail, gathering some sugar off the rim—in part because I’m starving—while he leers at me. “To be fair, I’m not the kind of woman you need either.”
He peers at his vibrating phone, texting something before planting his curious gaze on me. “This should be good. What kind of woman do I need?”
“One who will rob you blind.”
His forehead wrinkles, like he’s considering that, though he still decides to challenge me as he performs another trick with his card deck. “Why would I—or anyone—need that?”
I gesture to the evidence supporting my claim. “The guy who holds all the cards won’t pay attention until someone steals them.”
He dips his chin in what appears to be concession. “And that’s not you?”
“Definitely not.” I pluck the last cherry out of my drink and set him straight before devouring it. “I’m not much of a thief. I’d be more likely to shoot the dealer.”
“Good to know.” His whole face brightens, and again, he punches something into his phone—working maybe or conversing with the next gal in line. “I’ve seen you tackle one.”
And there it is. I knew when he asked me to have dinner with him that it was connected to the video of me and Axel.
“I figured since you alluded to the video the other day.” I don’t divulge that I read their family text thread because I don’t want to out Mercy and Tessa.
“About that”—he swigs his beer, making me wait until he sets it down—“our night is going to take a shift in less than ten minutes.”
