Page 44 of The Devil of Downtown

Sloane.

Just hearing her name sparks a fire in my blood. A fire that’s been raging since that kiss. Since those blue eyes sucked out my soul as I watched them break apart for me, then shut down like it never happened.

“I needed some R&R after London, so I went to my place in the Catskills. Hiked up a few mountains, swam in a few lakes...”

Tried to forget her. Failed spectacularly.

“Great, so while you go full mountain man, I had to pretend to be happy that Dad is marrying Mitzy.”

“Jesus.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Only Dad would marry someone who sounds like she picked her name using that‘your stripper name is your first pet and street’formula.”

The only downside of skipping lunch was missing our little sister, Charlotte. Not so little anymore. Now, a successful lawyer in Boston. And already a partner at twenty-nine.

“I take it Charlotte was there?”

“Yes, but you’d have known that if you’d taken the time—”

“Enough,” I interrupt, my patience snapping. “I’ll be at the damn engagement party. After all, that’s what he cares about most. The photo opportunities. Selling his life to further his political career.”

Julian exhales and shifts back to business. “Fine. But do me a favor: get the Bexley Progress Meeting from yesterday rescheduled. Ask Sloane to handle it.”

“Consider it done.” I grit my teeth, knowing that I have to face her today. I push myself to my feet, deciding I can’t put it off any longer.

“Before you go,” Julian says, voice low, “our guy investigating the accident tracked down a witness. They told the police they saw three, possibly four people in the car—driving erratically before the crash. Speeding, drifting out of the lane. None of it made it into the final report.”

“Three people?” I repeat, my stomach turning.

“Yeah.” His jaw flexes. “Which means there are three people out there, waking up every morning, pretending they didn’t destroy two lives.”

I swallow hard. Whatever I’ve tried to forget, whatever I’ve buried to keep functioning, it’s clawing its way back up. Maybe it’s time I stopped fighting it.

“Not for much longer,” I murmur. “Not when we’re through with them.”

Julian’s mouth twists into something dark. “Then they’d better start saying their prayers.”

With that, I slip out the door to make the short walk to my office. I smell her perfume before I see her. But there’s a faint difference I can’t quite put my finger on. As I round the corner and she comes into view, something unfamiliar thumps in my chest. I don’t get nervous around women, ever, so I’ve no idea why a bass drum is thudding in my ribcage.

She’s typing on her keyboard, frowning at the monitor, mumbling to herself. The second she sees me, she straightens in her chair with surprise.

“Mr. Black?”

“Yes, last time I checked.”

“I thought you were at the conference today?”

“I changed my mind.”

“Of course.” She flashes me a polite smile and switches straight into business mode, rattling off an extensive list of all the items on my desk for signing.

I don’t hear a word.

Because I thought I had the best poker face in the business, but Sloane’s is something else. Nothing. No flush of the cheek. Not even a flicker in her eyes. Now, those blue eyes I was drowning in are emotionless.

I tune back in, and she’s still rambling about Zurich projections. An unwanted spike of irritation pinches my gut.

“Reschedule the Bexley Progress meeting for two pm,” I interrupt, my tone a little too harsh, pushing for some kind of reaction.

She doesn’t even flinch. Still nothing. It’s like someone rebooted her hard drive over the weekend and reproduced the AI version of her.