Page 3 of Reveal

“I believe paying for sex is illegal, Counselor.” His scoff fills the small room and drowns out the sounds of my guests outside.

“Says a man who has no problem breaking the law himself,” I say to neutralize his thinly veiled threat and to let him know I’ve heard the rumors about his dealings. About lobbyists and greased palms. About him using an escort service and paying for sex himself.

Something’s off, though. He’s on edge beneath the designer threads and practiced politician’s smile, regardless of how relaxed he pretends to be.

Bianca’s words from our conversation earlier this week ghost through my mind. My husband is struggling right now. It’s difficult for a man who’s always in control to feel that he’s losing it when it comes to me. I think of her tight smile and the unforgiving look in her eyes. I will take so much pleasure in being the one to prove to him that he can never have control over me again. Find out whatever you can on him—the women he cheats on me with, the bribes he takes, the hookers he pays—and I want you to use every single one of them to win me more. But be warned, once he knows you’re a threat to him and his endgame, he’ll do whatever it takes to bury you. Morality isn’t exactly his strong suit.

“Sometimes a man has to do what he has to do.” Carter’s unabashed shrug is followed by the flash of a smile. “Especially when it comes to getting the upper hand.”

“I’m not following you.”

“Hasn’t your practice had some troubling incidents as of late?” He walks toward the bar and selects a bottle of Jameson off the shelf without asking. The neck clinks as it touches his glass when he helps himself to more. “In addition to Roxanne, of course.”

My mind scrambles to figure out what he’s referring to but draws a blank.

“Is this you pretending to have some bogus upper hand on me?” I ask through a laugh. I don’t care who the fuck he is—vice president or senator or a goddamn errand boy, he’s full of crap.

His laugh reverberates around the room. “Nah, we’re just two guys shooting the shit here. Sharing stories. Trading favors. Looking out for one another.”

That’s how he wants to play this? Ask to see me, confront me over Bianca, then Vaughn, threaten me, and now act like we’re buddies?

Keep it casual, Ryk. The less you say, the better, until you figure out what it is that he’s after. Because he is after something.

“Is that so?”

“You tell me. Is it?”

“You said you wanted something from me,” I reiterate in this verbal game of cat and mouse, sick of the chase. “Care to tell me what that is so I can get back to my guests?”

“Are you going to answer my question?” he asks with a lift of his chin to the party beyond. “What’s she doing here?”

“Who?”

It’s his turn to respond with a laugh that tells me I know exactly who he’s talking about. “The woman who needs to know her threats are empty against my influence.” He levels me with a look that only he can. Arrogant. Privileged. Entitled.

He wants Vaughn.

Fucking Vaughn.

“Vaughn.” He fights a smile as he studies me for a reaction.

A reaction I refuse to give him.

“Vaughn?”

“Power, Ryker.” He takes the cigar cutter off the counter, lops off the end before lighting it, and takes a long draw. His eyes close as he appears to relish the taste, and when he finally exhales, he meets my eyes. “It all comes back to that, now doesn’t it?”

“And like I said, power is subjective.” Where the fuck are you going with this, Carter?

“Are you her keeper? Are you the one pulling her strings?”

“I’m not following you. Wouldn’t it be easier if you just came out and asked what you wanted to ask?”

His smile is anything but sincere when he grants it. His eyes hard, his shoulders tense. “The woman has many things I want. Many.”

“And?”

“And she should be careful.”