Something didn’t add up. Beyond what the stranger knew about her likes and dislikes, there was definitely no reason he should be arranging for her to have the afternoon off.
Harlow cursed herself for not paying attention to her instincts. “I have to make a quick call,” she said, lifting her phone, wondering if she should try calling Bale, who Noon had said was out of town, or if she’d have time to search for Floyd’s number.
This guy should think she was calling the office—
“You won’t need that,” he said, plucking the phone from her hand and turning it off.
Stuttering and blinking, Harlow couldn’t believe he’d been so brazen. “Excuse me, but that’s my phone.”
When she tried to reach for it, he stood up and took it with him to the bar. Going around behind it, he crouched; she heard some noises that she couldn’t quite decipher. The next time he stood up, the phone was gone.
“Maybe I should introduce myself.”
Anger overtook her unease. “Yes, I think you should,” she said.
Stealing her phone took some nerve. Whoever his boss was, he obviously had money, which meant he was probably used to having people’s undivided attention when they visited him. Harlow wasn’t intimidated by money, or influenced by it, and she’d be telling him that if he ever showed his face.
She planned to have a word with Gina too about rearranging her schedule at the whim of an obnoxious client. Picking up the slack by taking a random meeting was just fine with Harlow. What she did mind was any one client demanding more of her time than anyone else got.
Harlow had paperwork to complete and other clients to call. She’d planned to go see Felipe and his mom at the end of the day too, just to check all was well and that he’d gone to school.
“My name is Adonis Brash.”
Handsome and strong, he was. Adonis, he was not. Wait. Harlow moved past the first name and tried to figure out why the last name was familiar. He was coming toward her wearing an expression of knowing and patience like he was waiting for her to figure something out.
Brash.
She’d heard it before. Brash… Brash… Oh, shit. Ryske had said it. In context of the man who’d attacked him on the night he’d been stabbed. While she couldn’t remember if Ryske had specified which man had held the blade, he’d referred to both Brash and Animal.
Sinking onto the couch beside her, closer than he had before, his vibe grew cocky. “Figure it out yet?”
Swallowing, she thought of what Noon had told her, go with it. Perched on the edge of the couch, she crossed her ankles and picked up the wine. Not out of any desire to drink, but to project ease.
“I’m sorry, no… I don’t believe we’ve met, Mr. Brash. Will your boss be joining us soon?” she asked, doing whatever she could to unnerve him, knowing it had been his goal to unsettle her. “He will return my phone before I leave, won’t he? Taking it is more than a little rude. Is he used to getting his own way?”
Witnessing his growing confusion was satisfying. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t overt. The way he peered at her betrayed how he couldn’t decide what to make of her confident response.
“Mr. Hagan is a busy man, and he doesn’t like others to be distracted in his presence,” Brash said, his voice distant, proving he couldn’t make a decision about her ignorance.
“Mr. Hagan,” she said. “What is it that Mr. Hagan does to make his money?” Brash wasn’t instantly forthcoming. She crooked a brow, almost daring him to lie. “Mr. Brash?”
17
Brash was saved from answering by the sound of another door opening. It took Harlow a minute to locate where the noise had come from. At the end of the bar, tucked down at the bottom of a couple of stairs that probably matched the sweep of those she and Brash had ascended from the entryway, she noticed the top corner of a door moving.
Brash stood up and started heading that way. Harlow took the opportunity to put the wine glass down without drinking. She’d love a drink to bolster her courage but wouldn’t trust anything handed to her in this place.
The man ascending the stairs was blocked from her view by Brash who stood at the midway point between her and the bar. Holding her breath, Harlow waited to see the man responsible for Ryske’s injuries, but wasn’t sure she could trust herself to keep playing it cool after she did.
Brash might have held the knife, or maybe he was responsible for some of Ryske’s bruises, either way, he was no friend of hers. For Hagan, she held a different level of contempt. Anger and disgust ate at her guts, she wanted to scream, to grab the wine glass and smash it in his face. The moment she had the thought, Harlow heard Ryske’s voice in her head, telling her that wasn’t a good idea without an exit strategy.
“Is she here?” a masculine voice asked. “Did she make it?”
Rising from the couch, Harlow knew he was talking about her. While it wasn’t easy to keep her chin up, her only chance was to stay calm and in control. If one of these men wanted to tell the truth about what they’d done, she’d listen. If she was here because they wanted forgiveness, they’d be disappointed. No way was Harlow going to make this situation easy for them. They’d already made her life difficult in so many ways; it seemed only right that she return the favor.
Projecting nothing except ease, Harlow wanted to keep these men as far off their game as she could. “I assume that you are talking about me, Mr. Hagan,” she said, speaking before Brash could answer his boss.
Brash turned toward her, a scowl on his face. If he was beginning to figure her out, he wasn’t happy with what he was learning.
Without disguising her satisfaction, she drew a feigned smile away from the man she’d displeased to look at the other. At least ten years older than her, Hagan wasn’t what she’d expected him to be. Given what he’d done to Ryske, or ordered done, she wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d had horns and a tail.
As it turned out, he had neither.
With a little grey at his temples and distinguished eyes that sparkled, Hagan appeared intelligent, dashing even, and that wasn’t a word she could remember ever thinking about another man.
“Miss Sweeting,” he said, his voice a deep, purring lilt. “I apologize for our heavy-handed tactics.”
Coming to her, he passed Brash without giving him a second glance and held both hands toward her. Harlow tried her best not to let him get an advantage, but couldn’t think of anything to do except offer her hand in return.
Cradling it in both of his, Hagan raised it to his mouth and pressed his lips against her knuckles, prolonging the contact like he appreciated the moment more than he should in an initial meeting with a stranger.
“I wouldn’t say your tactics are heavy-handed,” she said, doing her best not to pull away although the longer he lingered there, the more tense she became. “I would say they are rude.”
“Rude?” he asked, straightening his spine, keeping her hand sandwiched between both of his. He tossed a quick glare over his shoulder to Brash, but was smiling again when he turned back to her. “I apologize for my underling.”
“It’s not him who you have to apologize for,” she said. “Unless it was him who decided to rearrange my schedule with my boss and steal my phone.”
Nodding slowly, Hagan seemed to be catching up. “Yes, I appreciate that may have unsettled you.”
His arrogance seemed limitless. “Unsettled? No,” she said, unwilling to be dismissed or to have the truth downplayed. “Like I said, it’s rude.”
Still, there was no apology. “Everything will be explained and you’ll see why I acted the way I did,” he said.
Using only one hand, he gestured at the couch like he was inviting her to sit. Before she could decide whether or not to accept the invite, he sat down and forced her to join him with the grip he had on her hand.
Harlow didn’t like sitting so close to him. It only got harder to be there when he twisted and his knee touched hers. Acid churned in her stomach. This Hagan guy was good. Practic
ed, professional, and ignorant. He played it smooth, showing no indication that he knew he was irritating her.
His harmless act was fooling no one. The seal of truth hadn’t been breached yet, but it was only a matter of who broke first. They all understood more than they were letting on. No doubt they each knew pieces of the puzzle. Though there was one obvious piece: this polite, passive thing was bogus.
Harlow supposed there was a chance that Hagan didn’t know she was aware that he was the person responsible for Ryske’s injuries. But, there was no way she’d buy this meeting as a coincidence. Especially not after the way Brash had acted with her.
“Would you like a drink?” Hagan asked, stroking the back of her hand with his soft fingertips.
“Your boyfriend already tried to liquor me up.”
He stopped stroking to show her his shock. “Brash and I are not… we’re not…” He turned his chin to his shoulder, addressing his colleague without looking straight at him. “Get out of here. Get on with your duties.”
She didn’t mind Brash’s annoyance or the venomous glare he tossed her way. In fact, the act of revealing his irritation only encouraged her to keep on pushing buttons. A moment later, he’d disappeared down the stairs Hagan had used to enter and a door closed.
“So, you’re in need of social services,” she said. Playing it straight had been the best policy so far. “I admit to being a little behind the ball on this. Perhaps you could explain your predicament, so I can get to work solving your issues.”
Hagan observed her affable demeanor. Clearly, he hadn’t expected her to project the image of a capable professional. But if he was expecting a simpering victim, he’d cornered the wrong woman.
“Social services,” he muttered.
“Yes,” she said, finally managing to extricate her hand from his. Slipping further down the couch, Harlow settled in the corner like it was simply more comfortable there, which, of course, it was. Anywhere away from this Hagan was more comfortable than being up close. “It is what I do.”
His head moved a few degrees to the left. “But is it all you do?”
Harlow didn’t understand the question. “I’m sorry, I don’t…”
“You must have a social life, activities that you enjoy, hobbies, that sort of thing.”
Giving him credit where it was due, she watched him reorient himself at the opposite end of the couch as though he was settling in to spend time getting to know a new friend.
“I don’t like to discuss my personal life with clients,” she said. He arched his brows. “It detracts from your need. I’d be grateful if you could explain why you are in need of my department’s help. Obviously, you understand, we help many people in need. It’s important that our time is maximized. I can’t sit here gossiping all day. I would like to know why you called for help today.”
“I called,” he said. “Not for help. I called because I had to see you.”
Now they were getting closer to the truth. Still, she feigned innocence. “Me? We’ve never met.”
The side of his mouth curved. “Not exactly, but I believe we have a mutual acquaintance.”
“If we do, maybe I’m not the best person to help you in a professional capacity,” she said, holding her skirt to her knees as she rose. “I shouldn’t discuss personal matters during business hours. And, forgive me for saying so, but it’s inappropriate and unprofessional to assume that I would.”
“I bet he likes the prim thing, doesn’t he?” Hagan asked, sinking deeper into the couch. “I wouldn’t have guessed it about him, but looking at you here like this.” He nodded his head in appreciation. “I see it.”
“Mr. Hagan—”
“Jarvis is fine,” he said. “I think it’s okay to be informal with the person who ordered your boyfriend’s murder, don’t you?”
Murder? That was harder to stomach. Try as she might to maintain the impenetrable façade, the sense of loss and horror that idea conjured narrowed Harlow’s throat.
Her lips parted. “What do you want?”
“Nothing terrible,” he said and inhaled. “Answer my questions to the best of your knowledge and I’ll let you walk away as soon as we’re done.”
“If I don’t?”
“Then your boyfriend won’t be the only one to suffer,” he said. “And don’t worry, I know what you told my colleague about people coming to find you. But, once we’re done with you, you’ll be in too many pieces for them to ever put you back together. No one will come after me for taking you off the board.”
Clearing her throat, Harlow scratched her temple with a single nail. “I don’t want to undermine your threatening… because you are very good at it,” she said, delivering the compliment like it was genuine. “But… I don’t have a boyfriend.”
18
Hagan wasn’t fazed and actually laughed. Not a full body, over the top laugh, just a poised snicker. “After his reaction in Floyd’s last night, I don’t care what label you put on it,” he said. “I know you’re the woman I need.”
Acting like his statement was an advance, she cringed. “I’m not looking for a boyfriend either.”
“I’m a man of means,” he said, raising his hands from the couch to let them flop down at the wrists, presenting the room to her. “I have business interests all over the city. I could be helpful to you in your endeavors.”
“And what endeavors are those?” she asked. “Did you call me here to interrogate me or to seduce me?”
“Why can’t I do both?”
That was an easy one to answer. “You can try to do either. Neither will be successful.”
Drawing in a breath, he considered her for a few seconds before speaking with a new kind of light in his eyes that made her wary. “I do see it. Oh, Ryske does enjoy presenting me with a challenge.”
“Then you should attempt to corral him into coming here and presenting himself. I won’t answer your questions or give in to any advances. Trying to change my mind will be a waste of your time, which I’m sure is valuable.”
“It is,” he said, sitting up to reach for her wine to take a sip. “But time spent with a beautiful woman is never wasted.” He offered her the glass. “I assume you feared drugs or poison, I wouldn’t have drunk either. Now you know it’s safe… In any event, I like an opponent to have their wits. I am far more direct if I choose to eliminate them… as your boyfriend can attest.”
Harlow took the wine and sat back again. The glass was the closest thing she had to a weapon. If this turned ugly, she’d be prepared. If not, she might take courage from the alcohol. Though she’d wait to see if Hagan’s demeanor was changed by the liquid first.
Watching him like a hawk, she tried to spot any signs he could be under the influence of drugs. Except it seemed he was as keen-eyed as ever.
“Why don’t we call him up and ask him?” she said after a moment.
He tilted his head. “Thought you didn’t have a boyfriend.”
Ryske didn’t have that title in her life and probably wouldn’t want it given how things had ended between them the previous night. But if Hagan would let her near a phone to get anyone on the line, Ryske would be the man she’d choose to call. Regardless of how mad he was about what she’d said last night, or how she’d offended him, Harlow didn’t doubt for a second that he’d do whatever it took to make her safe.
That realization took her out of this tense moment and gave her clarity. Finding herself there, in the clutches of the crew’s enemy, Harlow’s perspective began to shift. Ryske wouldn’t make her promises. He wasn’t convinced they could have a future. This setup helped her to understand his point of view. She got it. Hagan conning and cornering her epitomized why Ryske was reluctant to put words to what was between them.
Carrying the weight of his upbringing, Ryske didn’t want to be his father or his mother. He’d made it seem like he didn’t want to commit to her because he wanted to be free. And, it wasn’t like either of them could deny that he was independent and a bit of a
player. But, his aversion wasn’t about any overwhelming desire to play the field. He wouldn’t lie and promise her things that he couldn’t deliver on.
Ryske didn’t want to promise fidelity and build a life with her and then renege… like his mother had done to his father. He didn’t want to tell her he’d be faithful, because once that promise was made, nothing would make him go back on it. Promising himself to her limited his ability to do his job and to support his crew.
Except, somehow, even without the words, Harlow was convinced of his depth of feeling for her. Maybe she couldn’t put language to it, maybe Ryske couldn’t either, but they had an affinity. She meant something to him.
“Is something wrong, Miss Sweeting?”
There wasn’t concern in Hagan’s tone. Instead, it was curious. The question snapped her out of her reflection. “No,” she said, more aware of her man’s psyche than she had been before. With the new clarity, her viewpoint was clearer. “Why don’t we speed this up? Ask me your questions, so I can refuse to answer them and get out of here.”
“If you don’t answer them, you don’t leave.”
A threat. Overdue, but not unexpected. “What if I don’t know the answer?”
“Whether you know the answer or not is irrelevant. Whether I believe you know the answer will decide your fate,” he said, and left the couch to go toward the bar. “Your boyfriend believes him and his little gang own the monopoly in underground activities in this city…” He rounded the bar and paused to make eye contact. “They don’t.”
Hagan had already referenced the bar, so he knew where the crew called home. “I would hardly call Floyd’s a monopoly.”
With his hand halfway toward a bottle, he stalled, and just kept his attention on her. Surprise made the way for scrutiny. “If you’re lying, you’re good at it,” he said. “Your boyfriend, he has connections… Useful connections… widespread connections in areas that are less than… sophisticated. Connections beyond their flea hole of a base.”
Go With It (A Go Novel Book 1) Page 17