Page 185 of Twisted Knight

And Rowan’s new client, GWA, the one she left my dick high and dry on, has requested just that. A meeting. Here. With me.

The only explanation they gave Audrey is that they want to go over everything with me. They’d better watch where they step, or I might squash the deal altogether if they think that going over Rowan’s head and coming to me without her knowing is a good decision. Or if they hint in any way possible that they don’t think she’s capable because she’s a woman.

“Yes?” I answer my phone as I enter the outdoor patio and bar area where people come and relax after a long, taxing day at golf. Like they know anything about taxing work here.

“Akiro just called,” Audrey says. “He’s running about ten minutes late. He apologizes profusely.”

I nod as I look around. “Good. That’ll give me time to have a drink or two.”

“To what? Take the edge off? Yeah, you might want to make that three.”

“Funny.”

“It’s not funny when it’s true.” She snorts.

“Put in a call to James,” I say of my pilot. “Have him on standby in case I need to get to Georgia when I’m done here.”

“Why would you need to go to Georgia?” she asks in that knowing tone of hers.

“Audrey,” I warn. “I appreciate you trying to keep me on track, but I’m a grown man who can manage his own distractions.”

“Just like I’m a long-term employee who knows when her boss is losing his grip on things. You pay me to keep you on track.”

Fuck.

Am I pissed because she’s right, or am I pissed because I don’t want to admit to her being right?

“Right now I’m paying you to back the fuck off,” I state, irritated with not being able to reach Rowan and pissed that I’m irritated about it.

“Noted.” Her voice is clipped, the reprimand not sitting well with her. “I’ll get in touch with James, but I believe the jet’s having regular maintenance being done to it. I had to authorize the work yesterday.”

“Fuck,” I mutter.

“Whatever holds your interest in Georgia can probably handle herself.” Considering she helped me with accommodations in Manhattan, I know she knows something is going on. But in true Audrey fashion, she’ll only hint at it.

And in true Holden fashion, I won’t confirm shit.

“Goodbye, Audrey.”

“Goodbye, grumpy.”

I make my way across the patio to the bar and startle when an arm is sloppily hung over my shoulder. “Holden. My man. My boss. The asshole who is fucking us over,” Chad slurs as he weaves back and forth on his feet.

I grit my teeth and try to politely step aside, but Chad just holds on tighter.

“That’s okay. You can fuck me over all you want because I won’t feel a single goddamn thing.”

“Clearly,” I say, finally extricating myself from his hold, now needing a drink more than fucking ever.

“I’m celebrating. Did you know that?” he asks, grin goofy and eyes glazed. “Finally fucking celebrating.”

“Good for you,” I mutter and hold my finger up to get the bartender’s attention for when he has a moment.

“We’re finally going to fix this. Finally going to say check-fucking-mate. Finally … finally getting what’s mine.”

That’s a lot of fucking finallys.

“A scotch, please,” I order all while taking in my surroundings. I see the Rothschilds at a table with the Williamses. Or at least I can presume the round-bellied motherfucker in the police uniform is his dad.