She grabs my arm, but I’m already turning.
“Holy shit,” I mutter.
Minerva Dyne is sitting down with the editor, greeting her like an old friend. They’re just meeting openly, not a care in the world.
“I never thought she’d actually do it,” Callie says in a loud whisper. “But she’s here. This is proof!”
I don’t know that it’s proof, but it’s definitely very suspicious. And sloppy of Fuchs.
Callie pulls her phone out and starts to take some pictures, hiding a bit behind the plant. “I so wish I could read lips right now.”
Me too. If I had a transcript to go with this, something more than pictures to use as leverage against Fuchs…
“Don’t let them see you,” I say. “Minerva definitely knows what you look like.”
“Oh, so now you want to be stealthy? They know what you look like too.” Her mouth flattens for a moment, but then she shakes it off.
I’m half tempted to walk over and confront the both of them. Minerva about showing up uninvited on my wife’s doorstep and the editor for publishing all those fucking pictures of me.
But that would blow our cover. So instead, I grit my teeth and just imagine it. And think about what I’m going to do with those pictures Callie’s taking.
Callie slowly lowers the phone, her gaze stuck on the two women across the street. “They’re just so… brazen about it. How can they do that?”
“Fuchs thinks his interests are too well hidden for anyone to ever suspect,” I say bitterly.
Callie’s gaze swings to me. “I’ve been thinking we need something spectacular to start off the website.”
I focus back on her, wondering where she’s going with this. “Yeah, we do. But wasn’t that the point of all the columnists you hired?”
She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m thinking we’ll need something even bigger. The columnists will keep bringing people back, but we need a reason for them to come in the first place. A really, really big reason.” She takes a deep breath. “An explosive one.”
That sounds dangerous. But also really exciting. “Like what?”
“I was thinking a series of articles on Fuchs.” She gestures to the women across the street, plotting together. “We can start with the TidBytes stuff and move on from there.”
There’s a shit ton of skeletons in Fuchs’s closets, I’m more than sure. I know of a few—like his preferences for kinky sex—but that’s not meaty enough. Given what he tried to do to January’s company and then what he tried to do to Callie and me… Yeah, those weren’t one-offs. That’s the stuff we should be publicizing.
Fuchs has been in the media a ton, but it’s all bullshit vanity crap, wasted ink on what a remarkable genius he is—nothing about what a fucking sociopath he is.
Not only would we be taking on TidBytes if we did that, we’d be taking on the man himself. And get a ton of press and word of mouth too. I could already see the article spreading virally through every social media site in existence.
I nod slowly, because my brain is still churning through all that. “That’s a great idea. An awesome one.”
“Really?” She’s pleased and a little surprised. “He might sue.”
“Good.” I give a short laugh. “Elliot would love that. A series on Fuchs—long form, hard-hitting—would be perfect for Greg Tychie. When we go to LA next week, let’s mention it to him, see what he thinks. With his work on surveillance tech, it would be a perfect fit for him.”
I stare at my wife with admiration. I should have thought of that myself, but she’s been kicking ass and taking names with this media company. And it’s all brand-new to her.
“What?” she says.
“It’s just… you’re amazing at everything you do.”
She picks at a fingernail, suddenly anxious again. “There’s something else I was thinking about…” The rest comes out in a rush. “I know this is a touchy subject, so I didn’t want to bring it up, but I know you guys have been looking into Corvus and Fuchs. Like beyond what you’ve told me about. Would you… would you guys be able to share what you learned so far with Greg? For the series?”
I cross my arms and pull in a heavy breath. Some of that information wasn’t obtained entirely legally. Even if it were, Finn and Dev aren’t going to want anyone to look into their methods too closely.
And there’s the other issue of just giving away info. We’re rich and so is Fuchs—when it comes to the kind of wealth we all have, information about our enemies becomes more powerful than mere money.
We could use the information we’ve gathered to threaten Fuchs privately, like we did in the January situation. If we give that information to the entire world, we lose a weapon. One we might desperately need one day.
“I don’t know,” I say finally. “Finn and Dev might not have used completely legal methods to get it. And they sure as shit wouldn’t want their name in a story.”
“Of course.” Callie drops her head, her shoulders slumping. “That makes total sense.”
She’s giving up so fast it’s killing me. It’s probably because she doesn’t want to deal with the rest of them.
“Hey.” I wait until she looks up at me. “I didn’t say no. The partners’ meeting is Monday—come to it and convince the guys why they should share the info. And what you’ll do to obscure the source.”
“But I—”
I raise an eyebrow. “If you’re about to say you don’t know anything about that… you should stop now. You convinced me to start a website; you can convince them to do this.”
Callie needs to feel comfortable with the Bastards or least confident enough to face them. They’re as much a part of my life as she is. They both have to fit.
And I need to help her when she’s there.
She stares at me for a long moment, uncertainty flitting across her face. I hold her gaze, steady and secure. She can do this. But she has to convince herself she can.
“Okay,” she says finally. “I’ll crash your meeting then.”
“You’re my wife. You’re not crashing anything.”
Chapter 27
I haven’t taken the weekend off in forever.
As we assemble for the Monday-morning partners’ meeting, the office feels strange to me, like a place I haven’t seen in a long time. I mean, I worked over the weekend but not a full day. I… took some time off.
I’m not anxious about it. I thought I’d be eager to get back to my office, to sink back into my fourteen-hour days. But my usual itch just isn’t here.
What I am itchy about is Callie being away from me. She was still getting ready when I left this morning, telling me she’d see me at the meeting in a few hours. I was supposed to be glad to get the time to check in at the office, get some work done… but I miss her.
Anjie strides by with a full carafe of coffee in her hand. “How are you, stranger?”
“Good. Look, how’s my office coming along?” I don’t ask because I’m eager for it to be done but because I feel like it’s expected of me.
“Oh, there’ve been some setbacks.” She doesn’t say exactly what those are as she puts down the coffee. “We’re looking at a longer timetable to get you back in there. How’s Callie doing?”
“Great. She’s—”
Finn and Elliot come in then, and the rest of what I was going to say is lost as Anjie greets the both of them.
“How was your weekend?” Paul asks with fake chirpiness once we’re all sitting down.
“Don’t ask Mark,” Finn says. “We already know what he did.” Finn clasps his hands under his chin like a maiden awaiting her rescuing prince. “He stared into January’s eyes for hours.”
Mark shrugs. “Jealousy isn’t a good look for you, dude. Don’t hate the player, hate the game.”
No one’s looking at me, and it’s deliberate. They probably think Callie and I fought all weekend.
We didn’t. We went to the farmers’ market at the Embarcadero, whi
ch was choked with people, and then up to Muir Woods, which was blessedly peaceful. We talked about everything and nothing and just enough about the website to feel like we were doing some actual work too.
I got the feeling Callie would have been happier not talking about work, but she did it to indulge me. And I would have been happier not fighting my way through the tourists at the farmers’ market, but she loved it.
“So you’re saying that you were all sappy with her?” Finn asks Mark.
Mark only smiles. “Ask Logan how his weekend was.”
Finn snorts. “I already know the answer to that. He worked.”
I shake my head. “You’re wrong there, genius boy. I went to the farmers’ market.”
The entire table breaks out into shocked laughter.
“No, you fucking didn’t,” Paul says.
“Yes, I fucking did, and I’ve got the fresh-picked radicchio to prove it.”
Finn narrows his eyes as he stares at me. “Holy shit, I think you’re telling the truth. And you… you actually look happy.”
Mark tilts his head. “Are you sure? Would you recognize that look on him after so long?”
I roll my eyes. “You’re a bunch of assholes.”
“He’s smiling,” Paul says. “An honest-to-goodness smile.”
Suddenly the air goes charged with awkwardness. We’re men, so we don’t do sincere emotions well, and the atmosphere is choked with sincerity.
“You, uh, you really do look better.” Finn drops his gaze, as if embarrassed to look at me.
“I guess things are working out between you and Callie.” Mark is actually able to meet my eyes, but he stutters through his words. “Good. Great.”
“Yeah,” Paul echoes. “I, uh, hope it lasts.”
Elliot says nothing, not quite ready to be as glad as the others. It’s almost touching, his reluctance to admit things are going well. He’s not doing it to be a jerk—he’s doing it because I’m his brother and he’ll always have my back.
Dev also says nothing, but that’s probably because he’s allergic to sentiment. He’s got no family, few friends, and no girlfriend—he proves his attachment to us by sticking around, not by blubbering over emotional moments.
“I hope it lasts too,” I say.
“What lasts?”
We all turn to see Callie waiting in the doorway. She’s done something with her hair to make it curl softly, her eyes are smoky, and her outfit…
I swallow hard, hoping I don’t look as dumbfounded as I feel. She’s wearing skintight jeans, a tank top cut low enough to make me blink, topped off with a short tweed jacket. It’s hot and elegant all at once.
She raises her eyebrows. “What lasts?” she asks again.
“Our success with the website,” I say.
“Oh good.” She gives Elliot a look, and he moves over a chair, leaving an empty spot next to me. “I’m here to talk about just that.”
When she takes the chair, she takes command of the meeting. I’ve never seen her like this, with deadly confidence practically radiating from her.
It’s impressive, but I also like the warm, welcoming Callie I’ve always known. I never knew there were so many sides of her to appreciate.
“Logan and I want to hit Fuchs hard and start the website off with a bang,” she explains. “So we’d like to commission a series of stories on Fuchs. Not the usual PR-heavy crap but stories about what he’s really doing in the tech world.”
Mark shifts in his seat. “While that sounds great, he lashes out when threatened, especially publicly. And there are innocent people he’ll hurt when that happens.”
“Of course I’ll protect January,” Callie says, quick and confident. She’s more than prepared for this. “And Grace too, along with everyone else at January’s company. There’s so much that Fuchs is hiding; we have a gold mine of info even without what he did to her.”
“We’re going to LA at the end of the week to talk to some writers,” I say. “And we’re going to offer them the opportunity to report on Fuchs—really report on him—if they join the site. His involvement in TidBytes is going to be our very first front-page story.”
Finn crosses his arms. “Nobody knows about him and TidBytes. Except us.”
It’s clear he wants to keep it that way. I can’t blame him. If everyone knows Fuchs owns TidBytes, we lose that leverage against him. And if Fuchs begins to suspect how much dirt we can dig up on him, legally or illegally, he’ll work that much harder to hide it.
“Which is why I—we—need your help,” Callie says. “If the writers can access the info you’ve collected on Fuchs—”
“No.” Finn doesn’t even take a moment to consider that. “Look, I know you want your website to launch loud and proud, but I’m not giving that stuff away. It’s too sensitive.”
“Our website,” I correct quietly. “And yes, we’ll lose an advantage by giving it away. But with Fuchs, do you really think there won’t be more fucked-up shit you can uncover?”
“I’ve only started to scratch the surface,” Finn says. “Do you know how fucking impenetrable the Corvus network…”
He glances at Callie as he lets his voice die.
She lifts her hand. “I don’t want to know and I don’t need to. You don’t have to give everything to the reporters, just a few bread crumbs. I’m sure they can figure out the rest on their own. Otherwise, why are we paying them?”
Paul busts out laughing. “Exactly. We can’t have Finn doing their job for them.”
“My name can’t be on anything. Fuchs is gonna figure it out anyway though,” he grumbles.
“It won’t,” Callie says. “I’ll make sure of that. And you can have final editorial say on the finished story.”
That’s a stroke of genius—she’s practically giving Finn a money-back guarantee here.
Finn’s shoulders relax. He’s definitely considering it.
They’re all considering it, like she’s a start-up founder coming to them with the next great idea. Except not quite. There’s more friendliness here.
Finn shrugs, then uncrosses his arms. “Okay, I’ll talk to the writers. Give ’em some of what I have.”
“Thank you.” Callie keeps her smile short, not gushing. She appreciates what he’s doing, but she also thinks she deserves it. “And like I said, I’ll give you the final draft to approve.”
“Naw, let Logan look it over. He’ll know what to cut.” He grins at Callie. “Besides, everybody knows I don’t read.”
Callie rolls her eyes, but affectionately. “I’m not fooled by your redneck act.”
“It’s not an act,” Paul says dryly. “Ask him how many of his teeth are false.”
“Hey, it doesn’t count if you knock ’em out on a dirt bike!”
The entire room starts to laugh, Callie included, and it hits me—they’ve accepted her. I thought they had before, but I was wrong. I never really invited her into this world, not like I should have.
I thought she wasn’t interested. That she didn’t have a place here. And before, she didn’t. She’s had to carve one out on her own when I should have been doing that for her.
I stop laughing, but no one notices.
“We’re going into the investigative journalism business, then,” Paul says. “I like it.”
“You just like the idea of pissing off Fuchs,” I say.
“Don’t we all?” Mark asks.
Dev unfolds his hands, sits back in his chair. He’s been quiet this entire time, but that’s usual for him. Only, now he’s got something to say. “I can help with contacts and leads.”
Callie blinks like she completely forgot he was there. “Thank you, that will be helpful.”
“Are you finally going to tell us how you knew Fuchs was seeing a domme?” Mark’s question holds an edge of resentment.
“Nope,” Dev says smoothly.
There’s a beat of silence, stretching until it only just becomes uncomfortable.
Then Elliot saves the mo
od by being his usual self. “You’re going to need a team of lawyers on retainer if you’re going to do this.”
I have to smile, because it’s so much like him to find all the bad outcomes and moan about them. I guess he got a lot of practice when we were kids, watching our dad go off about his latest scheme, which always, always, always ended up going the worst way it could.
Callie smooths her hand down the table, her expression clearing. “I need to talk with you after this about the contracts anyway. So let’s discuss it then.”
She’s still nervous around Elliot, which kills me. But she’s trying, which also kills me.
“Of course.” Elliot adjusts the pens next to his legal pad, even though they’re already straight.
Holy hell, he’s nervous too. But he’s also trying.
Chapter 28
Elliot’s office can only be described as old-fashioned.
Two entire walls are lined with legal books, with covers so plain and titles so obscure I’m bored just looking at them. There’s no computer on his desk, not even a laptop; just a neat legal pad, a huge stack of printed legal papers, and several fountain pens. It feels more like a set for a lawyer’s office than somewhere someone would work every day.
Mentally I start to add some art to the walls and repaint them too. A color halfway between blue and gray, light enough to be easy on the eyes, and for the art…
I have no idea what Elliot’s tastes are. Logan is a big fan of still lifes, particularly early cubist works. He once told me he liked how it was kind of deconstructed but still recognizable.
“Do you want some art?” I ask without really thinking. It just seems so sad to have no personal touches here. “I have some friends—well, a lot of friends—who have things you might like.”
Sculpture. It suddenly hits me that a sculpture here, nothing too big or intrusive, would be perfect. It would fit with the heavy presence of all the books, and every day there would be a new angle to look at it from. Elliot strikes me as the kind of guy to appreciate complex things.
He looks up from his papers, blinking behind his wire frames. “I, uh, never really considered artwork in here.”
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