She checked his fridge and cupboards. Stocked. She set his delivery on the counter, and crossed the room to join him.
He fixed his gaze on the canvas again, while she looked over his shoulder.
Progress. Similar to what hung in Whisk’s office, but with more sensual curves. It was pain and seduction and passion. “It’s stunning.” The gasp passed her lips without thought.
He still didn’t look at her, but his hand shook when he clenched his fist.
Lisa took a picture of the work—proof for Whisk. She raised her hand to tap Dexter on the shoulder. To tell him he was brilliant and she was sorry he was bound to someone else.
She dropped her arm again. They’d both made their choices. She walked out of the apartment without another word.
As she headed down to the street, she typed out a quick text to Whisk. Status update. She attached the photo of Dexter’s painting, and hit Send.
A reply came through before she had time to hail a cab. Let’s talk. In meetings all day. Come by the office this evening, Whisk wrote.
I’ll be there. If the request came from anyone else, Lisa would expect this to be a thinly-veiled attempt at seduction. With Bill Whisk she had no idea what he was up to, and that made her nervous.
Lisa had plenty of work to keep her busy until that evening. Based on his past reactions, she would treat the meeting as a business one. She wore slacks that were flattering, but allowed free movement. A knit blouse to keep things casual, and a matching jacket to finish the entire ensemble off.
Lightweight Kevlar sat underneath her top. It was itchy and less-than-flattering.
When she reached Whisk’s office, she didn’t recognize the guard who greeted her and showed her upstairs. Then again, she’d only been here a few times. Why would she recognize most of his staff?
She fought the impulse to adjust her bulletproof vest. To turn and run.
Bill was waiting behind his desk, still dressed in a tailored suit, a neutral expression on his face. He rose when he saw her and gestured to the empty seat across from him. “Join me?” He looked past her. “That’ll be all. I’ll call you if I need you.”
“Yes, sir.” The guard closed the door behind Lisa.
Lisa’s pulse roared in her ears, and all her senses went on alert. None of her meetings with this man had gone in a way she could predict. Now she’d been locked in the cage with the beast.
It didn’t matter. She was the best at what she did, and she could handle vipers like him. She sat, and he did the same.
“It’s only been a week.” He slid a tablet across the desk.
Her photo of Dexter’s work-in-progress was on the screen. “This is what I can do when you let me accomplish things my way. But I’m capable of so much more.”
“Hm. What do you see when you look at that?”
The work of a man who’d realized the true cost of selling his soul. She leaned in enough to study the painting. “Pain. Servitude.”
“And?”
“Desire.” But not based on the pain. The free-flowing lines were passion. Need. A desperation to be free and loved. “I guess.”
Whisk took the tablet back and set it aside. He rose and moved to her side of the desk, then leaned against the top, legs near hers when he stretched them out.
This was familiar. Intimidation and misdirection would follow. It was the most comforting thought Lisa’d had all day.
“When was the last time you fucked because you wanted to, rather than because the job required it?” Whisk asked.
Alex. She wasn’t playing this game with Bill again. But there had to be something more here than before. He struck her as too intelligent to goad her into the same mistake so many times in a row. “I don’t know.”
“So even with Dexter you didn’t want to?”
Ice clawed down her spine. How did he know about that? “You’re twisting my words. I enjoyed what happened with Dexter, but no I wouldn’t have done it if it weren’t for the job.”
“Would you like to change your streak tonight?” He watched her with heat in his gaze.
She let a bark of a laugh slip out. “You mean you?”
“That hurts.” His tone was missing the same threat it held when he said things like You’ve insulted me.
Blunt and direct had been her best bet with him so far. “If you weren’t you—your position, your job, your name—I’d consider it.”
“So even The Queen of Hearts custom builds bedmates in her head.”
Her brain caught on the words, and dislodged a memory of Alex. While she was working with him, before they were together, they used to play a game on long jobs. If you could build your perfect fuck, what would they look like? Who would they be? The night she hooked up with him for the first time, his answer was you.
Her chest ached at the surge. She’d never regretted loving Alex, but there was no way she’d fall for a line like that these days. She shook the past aside. “You’re an attractive man. I suspect avoid the drama is the only reason you pay for sex—”
“I don’t pay for sex.”
Had she insulted him again? “Too good for that?”
“We work in an industry where everything has a price. Sex workers are trying to earn a living, just like the rest of us. So, no. But if I’m with someone, I want them there because they want to be. Not out of an obligation to the job.”
“Then you’re not actually interested in me. You’re baiting me again.”
Bill raised an eyebrow.
“You’re my job. It doesn’t matter if we pretend for the night. If we promise nothing will change between us. Even my vibrator can’t make a promise like that. Even it comes out of each experience a little more worn down.” She was tired of this roller coaster of him pretending he wanted her, then degrading her for taking the bait.
He shrugged. “Unfortunate way to view sex.”
“Life is unfortunate. But a good orgasm provides a respite, regardless of the source.”
He stepped away, though he didn’t return to his side of the desk. “Have you eaten yet?”
“I...” The question caught her off-guard as much because she didn’t know as because of the shift in subject. “Not since this morning?”
“Join me for dinner?” It was request rather than a command.
No way she was turning him down. Dinner meant conversation. A chance to pry information from him the way Ephraim did with her. Not that she gave much away, but she’d slipped a few times.
Whisk may not. Not tonight. This was a step closer to sliding inside his boundaries, though. Regardless of his intent for the evening.
“I’d like that,” she said.
He picked up his phone, and pressed a few buttons. “We’re ready.” He hung up, and gestured behind her.
Presumptuous ass. Which was perfect, because he thought he was in complete control here. The more he believed that, the easier her job became.
She joined him at a table at the far end of his office, while someone brought in food. Steak, pasta, and bottled water. At least he got the last one right.
“I’m going to pull you off Dexter.” Bill’s tone was conversational as they started eating. “But I need you to do something for me in return.”
Sleep with you? She kept the joke to herself. He hadn’t responded well to those advances, and considering she’d just turned down the suggestion of it... “I’m here for you.”
“No you’re not. Not like that, anyway.”
“Of course I am.” She her voice calm. Reassuring. He had to think she was at his beck and call. “Jabberwock—”
“Is dead. Stop the bullshit.”
Ice formed along her spine at the shift in his tone, to something cooler. More menacing.
Chapter Twelve
“I wish someone had told me the boss had passed. My life would be a lot different.” Lisa had lived this lie for months, so it came easily.
Bill raised an eyebrow and took his time chewing his food. “Right. It’s a simple request. Tell me you’
re here because you choose to be. Because you’re looking for an in now that Jabberwock is gone. Admit that, and I’ll pull you off Dexter.”
He’d have to offer a much bigger carrot to make an offer like that tempting. No, wait. Incentive big enough to spill her plan didn’t exist.
“If that were true, and I admitted it, it wouldn’t matter what you told me to do. I’d be done here.” Hopefully by her choice rather than his.
“Would you?”
“If it were true.”
He shook his head. “Right. Let’s agree to disagree.”
“I don’t have a problem continuing to know you’re wrong.” Lisa didn’t like the direction of the conversation. Another thing that was’t quite right since she’d started working for Whisk.
Emotion got people in trouble. Following her plan, the steps she knew would work, would keep her safe. For instance, her gut wanted to ask him where he got his information. Why he’d believed it enough to confront her about it.
Taking the conversation in that direction would definitely be perceived as guilt.
She forced herself to eat, despite the nausea churning in her gut and the heavy food adding to the sensation.
“I’d really love to hear you admit Sawyer Brolin is dead, though,” Whisk said.
So much for moving on. She suppressed the desire to shudder. No one knew Sawyer’s real name. She’d hidden it, and she did so well. The same way she did with her own past. Blake’s. Alex’s. “Who?”
“I have a theory about you.” Bill took his time chewing a small forkful of fettuccine, as if it were the most delicate, delicious bite of food in the universe. “I think you’ve been taking orders for so long, you don’t know what to do without them. It’s why you continue to work for other people even though you don’t have to.”
Indignation joined her discomfort. She was doing just fine giving her own orders these days. Aren’t I? “I haven’t had a chance to find out. Jabberwock holds that leash tight.”
“Okay. We’ll keep playing this your way. I’m going to pull you anyway, though I don’t appreciate you forcing the empty threat.” His tone was devoid of emotion. That was worse than angry or sneering. “Your talent is wasted on Dexter regardless. He knows the consequences now of not doing what he needs to.”
As long as she didn’t break, it would be fine. He would question his certainty and she’d keep playing her part.
“What would you rather I was doing? I’m certain we discussed not tying me to your bed and making me your sex slave.” She kept her tone playful. It was a dangerous shift for her to make, but if the topic truly made him feel insulted, it would distract him.
He didn’t flinch. Disconcerting. “I took that off the table because you felt obliged. I don’t want you here unless you want to be.”
“That’s a tricky topic, isn’t it?” She had to watch herself. She was seconds away from falling into a dangerous loop of overthinking every aspect of this conversation. “I choose to work for Jabberwock, There may be parts of the job I find distasteful, but I assure you, I’m in this room with you right now because I choose to be.”
“Because if you asked Jabberwock for a different task, you’re his best and he’d oblige?”
“Exactly.” Had she hesitated too long? That half a heartbeat pause she took was nothing. Whisk wouldn’t read too much into it?
Stop.
The sound of a latch clicking open caught her attention, stalling her frantic thoughts. What? A reflection in the glass moved at the edge of her vision, and the door inched open.
“Get down.” Instinct kicked in and everything else vanished. She kicked the table up, dove behind it, and yanked Whisk down.
There wasn’t enough protection between them and the gunman at the door. She grabbed Bill’s arm. “Head down. Behind the couch. Don’t let them see us move.”
He complied, following without argument.
Several more bullets bit into the sofa, and another the window behind them.
She could see the gunman reflected in the glass. That was a problem though. That meant he could see her as well.
Lisa crouched low, embracing the desire to cower, and waited until the bullets stopped. She watched the reflection. The instant he dropped his magazine, she grabbed her pistol, rose, and fired.
The first shot caught him in the neck, and he jerked back. She’d advanced, planting two more rounds—one in the head and one in the throat.
He was down.
“You have access to the security cameras from your computer?” Lisa barked the question?
“Yes,” Whisk said.
She took a protected position by the door. “Check them. I’m covering.”
He sprinted across the room, and then his fingers were flying across his keyboard. The seconds it all took ground in her chest, counted out by the frantic hammering of her pulse.
“Everyone’s down.” Whisk almost sounded scared. “No one’s moving on any of these cameras.
Fuck. Please, just for two minutes, let this evacuation go better than it had with Dexter. “You have a car in the garage that you have the keys to?”
“Of course.” He managed indignation amid fear.
Great. Now to decide which was riskier—the stairs or the elevator. Why did the asshole have to be on the 40th floor?
“Kill all the cameras in the building.” Lisa’s brain ticked ahead several steps as she issued the command. “No reason to give them a way to watch us, and we won’t be able to use them.”
“Done.”
She grabbed their attacker’s extra magazine and his weapon. If he was here for her, did he really come alone? And kill all of Whisk’s on-the-clock staff? Was the guy here for Bill? Seemed more likely, given the wrath this would bring down on whomever was behind the attack.
Pieces to unravel once they were safe.
Chapter Thirteen
Lisa kept Bill close at her back, while she swept the floor. His presence behind her was unnerving, but it was the safest option that involved both of them.
It would take too long to check every room. Every corner, closet, and behind every piece of furniture. And deviating too far from the elevator and stairs gave anyone else a chance to relocate.
She stuck to the spots he told her people were stationed. Every one of his guards was dead. Clean, single gunshots for almost all of them. Bill’s people never heard this guy coming. After his needling of her, that she needed to prove herself as the best, it would have been amusing that his other employees weren’t... Except the result was dead bodies.
She and Bill needed to get out of here. Elevator could have someone hiding on top, like in the movies. It couldn’t possibly be that simple in real life, though. Why hadn’t she studied up on the subject?
Stairs meant walking down forty-four flights, with blind corners, multiple points of exit and entry, and echoes that would make pinpointing positions difficult.
Bill was quiet, going where she told him, when she told him. If he threw a tantrum when the reached safety, like Dexter had, she was shooting him.
The elevator ride down was silent. As the reached the ground floor, she nudge him into a front corner and stood in front of him.
Why? She could step aside. Let someone shoot him.
Part of her reaction was instinct. Maybe he was right about her needing to take orders. Her stomach cramped at the notion.
But if he survived, he needed to trust her. Saving a life was worth a lot toward that in she was looking for.
The lift doors slid open, exposing a garages of pillars and shadows. Not a lot of cars—that was something. But there were too many places for someone to hide.
“Where are you parked?” She kept her voice so low it barely reached her own ears.
He nodded at a BMW in the nearest parking spot. Thank God his ego even transferred to where he kept his car.
Lisa lingered as closely to him as she could, while still watching the garage. “Give me your keys. I’ll go first,” she whispered. “D
raw any initial attention and fire. When I say it’s clean, you run and join me.”
He pressed a key ring into her palm and his mouth to her ear. “But I’m driving.”
Whatever. As long as he was an aggressive driver, and knew the city, she preferred that.
She sprinted the couple dozen feet to his car, ducked behind the hood, and listened. Aside from the hammering of her pulse in her ears, and the street traffic above them, it was silent.
She poked her head up, caught Bill’s attention, and gestured for him to join her.
No words were exchanged as they secured themselves in the car, before leaving the garage. Traffic was heavy. Her tension cranked another notch. If they weren’t moving, they were as vulnerable here as they had been inside.
“What’s the fastest way to clearer streets?” She asked.
He navigated without pause, leaving her free to observe their surroundings. Something to be grateful for. “I have a place upstate. I can get us to open roads in a few miles.”
“I like that plan.” She’d rather pick the location, but until the threat was behind them, there had to be a little trust.
It took too long for them to leave traffic behind, but once the road behind them was mostly clear, she shed a layer of tension.
“I owe you an apology.” Bill’s words startled her more than his breaking the silence.
“For what?” She had a list, but it was a bad idea to dive into it now.
In this dim lighting, with the street lamps flashing occasionally across his face, he almost looked human. His expression was softer. It was a new flavor of handsome for him. “I came down hard on you for the shootings. I shouldn’t have. They’re my fault.”
“Did you hire the gunmen?” She kept the question light, but no reason to pass up this chance to ask. Not that she expected the truth if he had.
He chuckled dryly. “No. But a competitor has been making threats. The guy in there tonight works for him. And since your problems the day you started working for me, I assume they tie back to the same place.”
She’d love to think it was that easy. “Sounds a bit neat and clean and convenient.”
Painting the Roses Red Page 6