The town car pulls up, and I open the door for Alexis. She and the dark cloud over her head get inside, and I follow. David starts to drive.
“What the fuck was that?” I ask.
Alexis looks over at me, frowning. “What do you mean? She disrespected me. She disrespected both of us.”
I scrub a hand through my hair and shake my head. “You shouldn’t have risen to the bait. Now I’m going to have to clean up your mess.”
Alexis gasps. “You’re one to talk! You’re constantly getting into some sort of trouble with the press. How dare you!”
“But I kept my composure!” I snap. “If I could keep my shit together, so could you. The point is that I’m trying very hard not to get in trouble with the press, and if I have to start worrying about how you’ll react in public, I’m fucked.”
“She brought up my father and Clara in the same conversation,” Alexis argues. “What was I supposed to do?”
“You were supposed to walk away,” I bite out. “You’re a mafioso’s woman now. You need to be made of sturdier stuff than that, Alexis. People are going to test you. Felicity just did, and you failed massively.”
Alexis huffs and crosses her arms, looking out the window, muttering something under her breath.
“What was that?” I ask.
She spins to face me, snarling, “I said, maybe I don’t want to be a mafioso’s woman!”
Her words sting more than I would have anticipated. They are just another reminder that although she is back in my life, things are not the same as they used to be. Perhaps they never will be again.
Both of us stare out the window for the rest of the drive home.
18
Alexis
I type away on my laptop, listening to the distant traffic sounds that whisper through the window from the street far below. My eye strays to the folded newspaper on the corner of my desk, but I force myself to look back at my screen. It wouldn’t do any good to read it again. Plus, I have a load of work to do.
I keep typing. Keep glancing. Finally, I give in with a sigh and slide the newspaper in front of me, opening to the picture of the gorgeous, angry girl in the black dress.
A TALE OF TWO TEMPERS, it reads.
I’m so annoyed that the press has used my spectacle from two days ago as a way to remind the public of Gabriel’s previous outbursts that I can’t even enjoy the Dickens reference. The article makes it seem like I freaked out over nothing, which I suppose is how it would have appeared to an outsider. It’s not like I can set them straight either.
I groan and ball up the paper, tossing it in the recycling bin a few feet away. I miss. I swear.
My receptionist buzzes before I can get up to retrieve the paper, announcing that Clara has arrived. I tell her to let Clara in and try to grasp some semblance of calm before my best friend enters.
Clara comes in a second later, wearing a gray blazer and a matching pencil skirt. I’m still not used to seeing her in business attire, though she has been doing odd jobs for me over the past couple of weeks. She is smiling, but it slips down her cheeks when she clocks my grim expression.
“What is it?” Clara asks.
She glances over and sees the balled-up newspaper, then walks over to pick it up. She unravels it and frowns.
“You’re not still beating yourself up about this, are you?” Clara asks.
“I’ll be fine.” I wave away her concern. “Sit down. You wanted to run an idea past me?”
Clara sits and slides the folder over the desk. “I’ve had the finance team draw up some figures for expanding a few of the ad hoc treatment centers,” she says. “It just needs your approval.”
I look over the paperwork, impressed by Clara’s thorough report. “That’s easy enough,” I say. “Approved.”
Clara grins and takes the folder back. “That’s great!”
I clear my throat. “I actually had something I wanted to talk to you about as well.”
Clara’s smile dips, and she cocks a brow. “Whatever it is, I’m here for you.”
Not for the first time, I find myself eternally grateful for my best friend’s support. I can always count on her.
“I had this idea,” I say. “It’s a bit risky, but I think it could work.”
Ever since my confrontation with Felicity Huffman at the gala, I’ve been racking my brain for ways to dethrone her. The Cartel are a powerful force in the city, but they haven’t always been, and they can’t be forever. It’s up to Gabriel and me to push them out, and I think I might have devised a way to do just that.
“Purple heroin is overwhelming the city, but after my article was published, there was a brief blip where trade stalled. Back then I only knew half the story, but now I know all of it. I want to try again, see if we can bring it to a full-on halt.”
Clara nods slowly. “But how would we do that?”
“Obviously I have access to a lot of funds at the moment, and I also have strong journalism connections,” I tell her. “I was thinking that we could hire a team of reporters to investigate all angles of the operation. Like I’ve been doing with my blog, but more in depth. If we paint their names and pictures all over the news, we’ll be giving the police a lot more to work with and making it a lot more difficult for them to function.”
Clara grins. “Let’s do it.”
“You don’t have any follow-up questions?” I ask, chuckling. “This could be quite risky.”
She shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll do anything to bring the Cartel down.”
“Okay,” I say, opening up the file on my computer, where I’ve been keeping all my notes. “Let’s begin.”
It’s late when I finish work. I spend most of the day coordinating the first steps in my plan of attack, and by the time I haul my ass down to the car waiting in front of the building, I am exhausted. It feels strange to think I haven’t seen Harry since I left the mansion this morning. I miss him like crazy.
When I arrive back at the mansion, I take a quick detour to the kitchen to shove some bread and cheese in my face before walking up the stairs to the second floor. I poke my head in Harry’s nursery, but he isn’t there. I journey down the hall to Gabriel’s office and rap on the door.
“Come in,” he calls.
I walk in to find Gabriel sitting in his tall leather chair, with Harry balanced on his knee and a picture book open in his free hand. The pair of them look up when I enter, and Harry squeals happily.
“Momma!”
“Hey, baby,” I greet, walking around the desk. I pull him into my arms. “Look at you two, reading together.”
“I was getting him ready for bed,” Gabriel says, setting the book down. “You’re home late.”
It’s a statement, though there’s a hint of a question buried within it. Gabriel is uncomfortable with this role reversal—however temporary it may be.
I bounce Harry around the room. “I was working on something,” I say.
Gabriel lifts one dark brow and leans back in his chair, urging me to continue. He looks more relaxed than I am used to, in just a plain white T-shirt and sweatpants, rather than his usual full suit. The cotton clings to the muscles of his chest, and I have to rip my eyes away while I decide the best way to phrase what I am about to say.