Page 58 of Married to the Devil

The car rolls through the city and slows outside a high-end French restaurant on the edge of Rittenhouse Square. Theodora gazes out the window beside me, watching the buskers and the pedestrians while my eyes scan the crowd and the nearby street for threats.

“You know what I hate?”

Theodora doesn’t bother looking over. “Ice cream. Puppies. Rainbows. Smiling.”

“Center City in the middle of the day.” My nose wrinkles in disgust. “Too damn crowded.”

“I like all the people.”

“All I can see are threats.”

“You’re too paranoid, Rafe. Look, there’s a cop on a bike. Don’t you feel safer already?”

I give her a flat look. She grins, but she’s not funny.

We get out together. Theodora checks her briefcase while I make contact with my guard team. Four men are nearby keeping watch. Theodora doesn’t know about them and I don’t bother telling her.

While she knows most of what goes on in my operation, I try to keep her in the dark about some aspects.

I trust her, but I don’t trust anyone all the way.

“He should be waiting inside.” Theodora heads up the steps and in through the entrance. The young hostess takes us through the Art Deco interior, past men and women in business attire laughing over mid-day martinis, and toward a booth at the back.

A man’s waiting. He’s in his forties, balding, wire-thin, with a nice suit that looks like it’s hanging off him. He stands and shakes Theodora’s hand. They seem to know each other already, but his gaze flits to me and something about him changes. Tension rolls over his shoulders.

“Mr. Corvino, it’s good to finally meet in person. I’m Wallace Wayne, I work with Mark Thurston. I’m helping to close the deal.”

“Mr. Wayne, it’s good to meet you. Where is Mr. Thurston today?”

“Ah, Mark’s busy.” Wayne’s gaze cuts sideways toward the entrance. He clears his throat and adjusts his cuffs. “Shall we sit?”

“We appreciate you meeting with us,” Theodora says, taking charge of the conversation. She talks easily and makes people feel safe around her. I’m content to sit back and observe, but the more I watch, the more uncomfortable I feel.

Wallace Wayne isn’t happy. No, he’s downright twitchy, like he can’t stop looking around. Like he’s afraid of something.

“I don’t want to waste more time,” he says abruptly after sending the waitress away without ordering. “I respect you too much for that, Dora.”

I glance at my lawyer. She leans in closer. “What’s going on, Wally?”

Wally? Dora? Jesus fuck.

“We’ve been getting messages. People have been… very interested in our deal.”

“What people?” I ask sharply, interested now.

Wayne flinches and looks at the table. “I’m not at liberty to say. It’s client privilege.”

“Come on, Wally, don’t play around,” Theodora encourages. “We’re old friends. We went to law school together.”

“Which is the only reason I’m here. Dora, Mark straight up refused to come meet with you two.” He clears his throat. “Look, I have papers for you. The deal’s still going, but there are hiccups… some issues…” He cracks open his briefcase and pushes a folder across to Theodora.

She accepts the stack and glances inside. “Amendment documents?”

“Take your time with those. There’s no rush.”

I want to throttle the slimy fuck. There absolutely is a rush; I want my damn pharma company and I want to start my business. I’m sick of playing games, making offers, bitching and moaning about the details, wrangling every little crossed T and dotted I.

If this were my business, the deal would’ve been done weeks ago. I set terms, I get what I want, and that’s the end of it.