“There is no business relationship, Bartholomew. Not with you.” Carlyle stepped around him and headed for the foyer. “I made it very clear you’re no longer a partner in the game.” He continued past me and headed for the front door.
Bartholomew narrowed his eyes on my face then gave a nod in his direction.
My eyebrows furrowed.
He did it again—this time with more purpose.
I rolled my eyes and went after him. I stepped into the cool night air and watched him approach his Bentley. “Carlyle.”
He grabbed the door handle to his car and opened it. “I don’t have time for this.”
I shoved my palm hard against it. “I don’t either, but I always have time to make more money.” With my body against the car, he didn’t reach for the handle again. It was impossible—because I was the size of an ox. “Let’s do that together. Cut him out and work directly with me.”
His hands slid into his pockets, and he stepped away slightly. Every breath he exhaled came out as smoke in the foggy air. “Didn’t realize you were back in the game.”
“Unfortunately.”
“Why is that?”
“I’d rather be home with my family.”
“And that son of a bitch got you mixed up in this shit again?”
I gave a shrug. “He did me a favor. Now I’m paying him back.”
“Must have been a pretty big favor…”
“He saved my daughter’s life.”
He stilled at the announcement, his head cocked slightly.
“You don’t have to deal with Bartholomew. You can deal with me instead.”
He shook his head. “He’d still be benefiting.”
“So would you.”
He pulled a cigar out of his pocket, lit it, and then took a puff. When the smoke appeared, it immediately blended into the fog around us, the blanket of clouds that fell to the surface when the temperature dropped overnight. “I should kill him.”
“But you can’t—otherwise, you would have done it already.”
He took another puff, his eyes hostile now.
“Let’s not pretend that you don’t have a different mistress on your arm every time I see you. That you aren’t the first one in line at the whorehouses. Shit happens.”
“You don’t fuck your partner’s wife.”
“Doesn’t seem like your wife means much to you, so maybe he assumed you wouldn’t care.”
“Doesn’t matter—”
“It’s in the past now. I’ve given you an agreeable solution, so let’s move forward.”
He enjoyed his cigar for another moment before he tapped the ash off the tip. “You want my advice?”
“Didn’t ask for it.”
He stepped closer, as if Bartholomew were right behind him. “Kill him. Then take everything for yourself.”
“I told you he saved my daughter’s life—”
“It’s in the past now, right?” He threw the cigar on the ground and let the ash glow bright red. “He’s not someone you can trust—and you better not trust him either.”
The second we were in the back seat, he fired off his questions.
“What happened?”
“You fucked his wife, Bartholomew.” I cast him a glare. “That’s what happened.”
He crossed one ankle on the opposite knee, propped one elbow on the armrest, and looked bored. “She walked right up to me and asked me to fuck her in the ass. What was I supposed to do? Walk away?”
I rubbed my temple as I kept my eyes straight ahead.
“Like you would have done anything different, asshole.”
“I would have.”
“Because your dick is a pussy.”
“You could pay for any whore you want. But you still went for his wife? Still risked everything for a piece of ass?”
He gave a shrug. “That’s exactly why, and I don’t feel bad about it.”
“Jesus…”
“So, what did he say?”
“You mean, did I fix your mess?”
He stared, hard and cold.
“Yes. I fixed your mess.”
“So, we’re back on the books?”
“I’m back on the books. He wants nothing to do with you.”
His stare remained steady, as if he wasn’t the least bit surprised. “Problem solved.”
“Was that your plan all along?”
“You know me…I don’t make plans.”
“A heads-up would have been nice.”
“But that made the conversation spontaneous. Organic. Real. And that’s exactly what I wanted.”
It was one of the rare times I was home before Claire left for school.
And when she looked so damn excited, it made me feel like shit. She ran into my arms, asked me to make crepes even though Constance had already made breakfast, and it made me miss our old lives.
We’d had a great routine. We’d have breakfast together, I’d drop her off at school, and then I’d head off to work. We were both out of the house at the same time, so we were home at the same time too.
Now, seeing her in the morning was a luxury, and I was asleep when she got out of school most of the time.
We sat at the table and had breakfast together, and when she was done, we both walked her to school. It was a cold morning, but there were no signs of rain, and when March arrived, the sky would be blue.
I looked forward to the summer, when she was out of school for months and we were at the estate in the countryside. We’d take care of the horses, go swimming, and spend quality time together. I usually took the summers off from construction so I could spend all my time with her.
That was over too.
I hugged her goodbye and watched her run off to be with her friends.
Constance and I walked back.
“How was your night?”
I hadn’t said a word to her since I came home. My entire focus was on my daughter, and I’d forgotten she was there, to be honest. “Bullshit—like always.”
She was in a gray pea coat with black jeans and boots. With every step she took, there was a tap against the sidewalk, more taps than I made because one step of mine was equivalent to two of hers.
“Are you ever going to tell me exactly what you do?”
“You really want to know?”
“Yes.”
“Because you aren’t going to like it.”
“After being at the cult for so many months, I don’t think there’s anything you could say that would disturb me.”
“But you may not like the kind of man I am.”
She kept my pace, her eyes on the sidewalk in front of us. “There’s nothing you could say to change the way I feel about you.”
I believed her. I could hear it in her voice. Being on the streets granted me a level of intuition that nobody else had. I could read any room I stepped into. I could understand any person just by looking at them. I could tell if someone was lying just by listening to their tone. She never lied to me—not once. “Drugs. Blackmail. Prostitution. Murder.”
“That’s what I figured.”
“And that doesn’t bother you?”