“Trouvez-le.” Find him.
A brief pause.
“Pas d’excuses. Vous avez une heure.” No excuses. You have one hour.
Tobias ends the call just as I come into view. He looks perplexed, furiously typing away on a laptop on the island. It’s only been a few days since our confrontation at the pool, but it’s clear he fully intends to take advantage of his position.
“Mind telling me what the hell you’re doing here?” I make my way past him to open the fridge door to grab a water. I’m covered in sweat from my hike. He barely spares me a glance when he replies.
“Protecting my interest.”
“You think you can manage that somewhere else, preferably far, far away?”
He scans the screen and slams his laptop closed. “Putain!” Fuck. Chest heaving, he picks up one of his cellphones from the counter in front of him before dialing. “Get the new here. Ten minutes.”
He crosses the kitchen, grabbing a nearby bottle of gin and pouring a healthy drink into a tumbler full of ice. He circles it, deep in thought with the ice cubes rattling as he swishes the clear liquid, one, two, three times before he takes a long pull.
“It’s a little early for a cocktail, isn’t it?”
Silence.
“Good talk,” I roll my eyes. I’m halfway to the dining room when he speaks up behind me.
“You’re wrong, you know. It’s not people like you and your mother.”
“What?”
“When we first spoke, you said I was fighting for people like you and your mother.”
“Yeah, what’s wrong with that?”
“Everything’s wrong with that,” he bites. “Everything. You want to single yourselves out.”
“I meant—”
“I know what you meant. It’s not just the blue-collar workers at your father’s plant or anywhere else for that matter. That’s secular thinking.”
“Fine. I think wrong, I love wrong, my loyalty is misplaced, and I’m just an all-around fumbling idiot. Pardon me if I don’t give a shit that I’m not up to your standards.”
He again swirls the ice in his drink, one, two, three times before taking another sip.
“You’re tracking my every move already. Do you really have to be present to do so?”
“I’m cleaning up the fucking mess that’s been left for me.”
“I don’t understand why you’re vetting me so hard. I don’t know if you’ve been to a ‘party’ recently, but have you seen some of the people working under your fat thumb?”
He eyes me speculatively over the rim of his glass before he lowers it.
Just as he’s about to speak, the doorbell rings and I roll my eyes.
“These aren’t your headquarters. This is my temporary home, find another place to do your evil overlord bidding.”
He moves past me, ignoring my comment entirely before answering the door. A second later, RB and Terrance walk in.
“Hey, girl,” RB greets, just as Terrance speaks up looking between Tobias and me. “Thought you were Dom’s girl. You’re getting around, aren’t you?”
Humiliation heats my face as he eyes me in a way that lets me know exactly what he thinks about me.
Tobias’s demeanor shifts before he turns to me, his expression granite. “Give me your keys.”
“What?”
He lowers his eyes to the keys in my hand. “Give me your car keys, Cecelia.”
“Yeah, I don’t think so.” He walks over to me and holds out his hand, and I sigh before handing them over. He turns and hurls them at Terrance, who barely manages to catch them at his chest, a wince on his face from the sting. Tobias’s tone is unforgiving when he speaks.
“Wash and shine her car, soap, sponge, water, and wax, and she better be able to see her fucking reflection in it when you’re done.”
I step forward. “That’s not necessary, I—”
Tobias cuts me off with a look while RB glances over to Terrance with a ‘you just fucked up’ written in his expression. Tobias addresses RB next. “You watch him do it.”
RB nods, regarding Tobias with distinct respect.
Tobias ignores them both as they glance around the foyer. “You’re coming with me.”
“Uh, no I’m not, I’m in need of a shower—”
“We’ll be back in an hour,” he tells them both, gripping me by the arm to escort me out. “No one gets past this door. Tyler will meet you here in ten.”
“Got it,” RB answers.
I rip my arm away just as Tobias rounds the driver’s side of his Jaguar.
“I want to talk to Tyler.”
“No.”
“Well, I’m not decent,” I snap, arms crossed in an attempt to hold my ground.
“This isn’t a fucking date. And we’re not done with our conversation. Get. In. The. Car.”
We lock our eyes on each other for a second, then two before I slide into his leather seat. Shortly after, we’re flying down the lone road toward town.
“Want to tell me why you’re giving anyone with ink access to Roman’s house?”
Silence.
“You didn’t have to do that back there, you know? I can take care of myself.”
More infuriating silence.
“If disrespecting women is a hard limit for you, you might want to consider taking a closer inspection at your reflection.”
He navigates the roads easily as I scowl at the side of his head, attuned to the fact I must reek after a two-hour hike, my skin sticky from dried sweat. My hair matted in a heap atop of my head.
“Where are we going?”
He remains mute, relaxed in his seat as we drive another ten minutes until he whips into the parking lot of my bank.
“Making a deposit?”
He backs into one of the spots on the opposite side of the door facing the entrance.
“Let me guess, scoping for your next big heist?”
“Jesus,” he shakes his head. “Just watch.”
“What am I looking for?”
“Criminals. I want you to take a good look at that building and tell me when you spot one.”
“Really? We’re looking for criminals based on appearance?”
“Says the girl who just asked me if I’ve seen some of the people working under my fat thumb.”
“I just meant—”
“No way to justify that statement. Now, based on that line of thinking, let’s find some criminals.”
An older man walks out of the bank; he looks to be in his eighties and holds the door for a younger woman walking in.
“Nope.”
“How do you know? Because he held the door for her?”
“I don’t for sure. But he doesn’t look the type.”
“What’s the type? Everyone dressed in a hoodie? Everyone with tats? Who smells like pot? Sagging skinny jeans? Skin color? What about haircut? Can you tell by a haircut?”
“You’ve made your point.” Heat travels up my neck.
“No, I haven’t. Watch.”
And I do. For several minutes I scrutinize every person walking in and out of the bank and dismiss them.
“You don’t see one?”