by Sarah Piper
“Pretty, or expensive?” Travis asked.
“Both?” Charley shrugged. “I don’t really know. That’s your department.”
Travis nodded, surprisingly non-confrontational. She could almost see the wheels turning in his head. As far as Charley knew, Rudy had never fenced cars before, but Travis’ involvement seemed to change things.
“So that about does it,” Charley said, rising from the chair. “I’ll get you the list of pieces once I’ve had a chance to think about everything again, but this should give you a pretty good idea of what’s going on over there.”
“Very informative,” Rudy said, unable to keep the note of satisfaction from his voice.
Charley finally relaxed. All in all, her presentation had been pretty convincing—she could see it in the way Rudy smiled now, greedy and eager, eyes glittering with the promise of a hot score.
But like a flower kept in the closet, Charley was fading quickly. It wasn’t just the double life, the lies, the scamming.
It was that she missed him.
Somehow, in their short time together, Dorian Redthorne had gone from random hot hookup, to phone sex fantasy man, to Rudy’s mark, to a real person, to an immortal vampire, and right back to a real person again—one she desperately wanted to know. To be near. Now, she wasn’t just fantasizing about him; she was thinking about him. Remembering him and their conversations, the breakfast spread, the drive. Craving Dorian’s touch, the sharp sting on her bare flesh, the soothing kisses that followed.
“Nice work, Charley.” Travis pounded on the table, startling her from her thoughts. “You’re quite the resourceful little slut.”
Charley flashed him a carefree smile, refusing to take the bait. “I know, right? While you were jerking off alone last night, I actually got some useful information. As a matter of fact, I got more intel in one night than you managed to cobble together in all your months of surveillance.” Then, turning to Rudy, “So when are we making a move?”
“You’re on a need-to-know basis,” he said. “The moment you need to know, I promise you, you will.”
But that was the thing—Charley did need to know. Right fucking now. If she had any chance of throwing a wrench into the works, she needed to know exactly how and when those works would play out.
Fuck.
There was only one thing left to do.
It was a risk—one she’d never before taken. Not once in the five years since she’d been working for Rudy. But now, it was her only shot. And when she thought again of Dorian, of how quickly he’d opened his home to her, his bed, hell—even his heart—Charley knew she couldn’t back down.
Popping her hands on her hips, she looked her dickbag, asswipe, shithead of a boss straight in the eyes and said, “I’m sorry, Uncle Rudy, but that’s bullshit.”
His eyebrows lifted, his lip already curling into a sneer. He was T-minus five seconds from erupting, but Charley couldn’t pull back now.
“Look,” she said firmly. “You guys sent me in there almost entirely unprepared—no mention of the family members in town, no mention of the size and scope of the fundraiser, and worse—no mention that the host was a man I’d already met before—one who obviously recognized me.” Charley shook her head, still steamed about that particular trick. “Despite all that, I still managed to do my job. Now, out of everyone in this room, I’m the closest one to Redthorne—the only one who might be able to wrangle some additional info out of him, or lure him out of the house at the right time. Even with all the surveillance in the world, you two don’t stand a chance without me.”
“Careful,” Rudy warned. “You’re getting dangerously close to insulting me.”
Charley’s chest tightened, but she wasn’t done.
“Dorian Redthorne isn’t some drugged-up celebrity or bratty kid spending Daddy’s trust fund. He’s a serious collector, and he’s not going to be taken so easily. Face it, guys. You wanna get close to that cache? You’re gonna need me, every step of the way.”
“Fuck.” Travis tried to shove a hand through his hair but gave up when he couldn’t break the gel barrier. “We haven’t mapped everything out yet. We’re still waiting on more surveillance photos from my other guy.”
“Just how many other guys are in on this?” she asked.
No response.
“Fine, figure out the logistics,” she said. “But when it’s time to go in, I’m going in with you.”
Rudy remained silent, and inside, Charley cheered. It was as close to agreement as she was going to get out of him.
Today’s small victory achieved, Charley picked up her bag and headed for the door, tossing one last barb over her shoulder. “Call me when you boys are ready to stop measuring your dicks and start making a real plan. Until then, have a fan-fucking-tastic weekend!”
Chapter Forty-One
What a fucking nightmare.
By the following Wednesday, Dorian was little more than a caged animal on display, pacing his office while Aiden ushered out the corporate investigators they’d spent the morning trying to appease.
Lucien Armitage’s sons had sent them. In the wake of the attack on Charlotte at the fundraiser, they had new concerns about Dorian’s ability to, quote, “manage his competing priorities.”
And—rubbing a bit more salt in the wound—Lucien was still considering Renault Duchanes’ bid for Armitage Holdings. On the advice of his sons, the offer wouldn’t be dismissed unless Duchanes was found guilty of ordering the attack.
So Dorian had endured the investigations—two in as many days, with more lined up tomorrow—wasting precious time discussing his corporate and personal financials, his plans for integrating Armitage Holdings into FierceConnect’s existing structure, how he saw their technology fitting into his current product offerings. They’d asked about his beta testing procedures, how many employees had access to his proprietary development schematics, whether his home and office facilities were secure. Today, they’d gotten even more invasive, assaulting him with questions about everything from his employees’ schedules to how much unsupervised access his housekeeping staff had at Ravenswood, where they might uncover sensitive company data.
If he didn’t need the merger to help smooth the way to a partnership with Isabelle Armitage, he would’ve called the whole bloody thing off.
And worse, despite Aiden’s insistence that he play the consummate professional during these inane investigations, Dorian could hardly concentrate. His mind was utterly incapable of veering away from Charlotte for more than thirty consecutive seconds.
After trailing her and Jameson on Saturday, he knew she hadn’t gone home—Jameson had dropped her at an address on Water Street, nowhere near the Park Avenue address Dorian had spied on her driver’s license the night he’d found her purse in the gardens. Sitting in his black BMW M8 like a bloody stalker, he’d watched through the tinted windows as she entered the building. Then, no more than half an hour later, she exited and hopped into a taxi.
Again, Dorian followed her—this time, straight to Park Avenue.
Satisfied she was safely home, he took off, hoping they might catch up on the phone later that night. But in the four days since, he’d barely spoken to her. She’d ignored all of his calls, offering no more than a handful of noncommittal texts in return—empty promises about wanting to see him again, followed soon after with excuses about why she couldn’t.
Work meetings!
Homecoming BBQ at Sasha’s school!
Hair appointment!
Devil’s balls, that last one had really stung.
“I’m starting to understand why you don’t like people,” Aiden said, returning to Dorian’s office looking uncharacteristically flustered. “Sodding hell, that was torture.”
“With more fun to come tomorrow.” Dorian continued his pacing, keeping his back to the expansive windows. The sun felt overly bright today; his eyes ached as if someone had plucked them out of his skull, stomped on them, and shoved them back in.
&nb
sp; “When was the last time you fed?” Aiden asked, tracking Dorian’s movements across the office. “You don’t look so hot.”
“I’m fine.”
He wasn’t fine. The sustaining effects of the demon blood he’d recently dined on hadn’t lasted very long, and the hospital from which he typically procured blood bags was experiencing a shortage. Dorian had been forced to purchase synthetic blood from Marlys—a last resort composed of cold extracted demon blood, animal blood, and a magic tincture so foul it had Dorian nearly wishing for death.
Dorian rubbed his eyes, trying to ease the throbbing behind them. It was maddening, but if they didn’t secure a bonded witch soon, the sunlight was going to be the least of his problems.
Day by day, Dorian was losing his ability to process the nutrients his body needed from blood. And though his brothers and Aiden hadn’t started showing the symptoms yet, he knew, deep in his gut, they would all eventually succumb to the same affliction.
“Dorian, are you certain you’re—”
“I said I’m fine, Aiden. Is there anything else?”
“Actually, yes, if you’ll allow me to share it without biting off my head.” He settled into his favorite spot in Dorian’s chair, helping himself to a sip of Dorian’s coffee, long gone cold. “I’ve received word from Kate—my contact at House Connelly. Two of her sisters reported seeing demons at Bloodbath this week.”
Dorian stopped pacing, his eyes widening. Bloodbath was an underground nightclub on St. Marks Place, owned by Duchanes and his associates. The clientele was mostly vampires, but more and more lately, Dorian had been hearing rumors of human guests—most likely blood slaves. The presence of demons was disconcerting to say the least—the monsters weren’t supposed to set foot in Manhattan at all.
“How certain was she?” Dorian asked.
“Positive. They spotted them on three different occasions.”
“Chernikov’s?”
“They didn’t know.”
Dorian dropped into the leather chair across from Aiden, his mind turning over the intel. If they were Chernikov demons, he’d have another problem on his hands. He thought he’d made himself clear at his meeting with the Russian about keeping his demons on a leash.
Dorian really hoped Chernikov wasn’t baiting him.
“Any sightings of the elusive Renault Duchanes?” he asked.
“No, and according to Kate, no one’s talking about him either. She tried to get cozy with one of his newer sirelings, but the man was a vault.” Aiden shook his head. “This isn’t just about an attack on Charlotte. There are larger forces at play.”
Dorian agreed. The attack at Ravenswood, Renault’s convenient appearance during the Central Park demon attack, the bid for Armitage Holdings, and now, unidentified demons hanging out at Bloodbath… something told Dorian it was all connected.
He just couldn’t figure out how.
“I want him eliminated,” he said.
“We have to locate him first. Have you thought of asking Marlys to reach out to Jacinda?”
The idea had crossed his mind, but he’d dismissed it. Jacinda was Renault’s witch, so even if she did know something, she wouldn’t be eager to share it. And Marlys was a free agent, working for the highest bidder and doing her best to stay out of vampire politics. Asking her to take sides in the brewing Duchanes-Redthorne war was neither fair nor prudent.
“We’ll find another way,” Dorian said. “In the meantime, I’m going to ask Gabriel to keep an eye on Charlotte.”
Aiden’s eyebrows lifted. “Gabriel?”
“He’s got a reputation for… tracking people down.”
“Yes, and making them disappear.”
“I don’t need her to disappear. I need her to be protected. Gabriel can keep a close watch, make sure she’s not still a target.”
Aiden lowered his eyes and sighed, swirling the cold coffee in the mug.
“Say it,” Dorian said.
“I think I’ll keep it to myself.”
“For fuck’s sake, Aiden. If you’ve got something to—”
“What is it about this woman? You hardly know her, and she’s already got your balls in a jar.”
“Last time I checked, my balls are still very much in my possession.” Dorian reached for his belt buckle. “Would you like proof?”
“You spent half the meeting today with a hard-on the size of the Eiffel Tower. It wasn’t difficult to tell where your mind had wandered.”
“Piss off,” he said, but there wasn’t any ire behind it. Dorian blew out a breath and loosened his tie, knowing damn well Aiden could spot his lies a hundred miles away. “I can’t stop thinking about her.”
“That’s precisely the problem.” Aiden rose from the chair, crossing to the other side of the office and rifling through the file cabinet. He slammed one drawer, then opened another. “This is a critical time for us, and here you are, allowing yourself to be distracted by—”
“What in the bloody hell are you looking for?”
“The lemon biscuits, you daft, obsessed bastard.”
“First of all—obsessed? Hardly a fair assessment. Secondly, you ate all the biscuits, and you left crumbs all over my desk. And lastly…” He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “She isn’t returning my calls. How have I already managed to fuck this up?”
Aiden slammed the last drawer. “So you’re bloody well in love with her, then?”
“What?” The L-word electrified his blood, his heart damn near seizing. “I never said—”
“If you won’t listen to me as your very concerned friend, listen to me as your business partner. We need to focus on this merger. Never mind Lucien’s concerns about our financials—if you don’t get yourself sorted out, we’ll lose the deal on account of your inability to pull your head out of her very beautiful, very firm—”
“I’m handling it.”
“You’re not. You were sitting at that meeting, daydreaming about your wedding when you should’ve been reassuring the investigators about our capabilities.”
“For fuck’s sake, I’m not going to propose to the woman. I just want to spend time with her.”
“You were picking out china patterns.” Aiden shook his head. “Just so we’re clear, I’m not wearing a colored cummerbund to your wedding. Classic black, or I’m staying home.”
“Are you quite through?”
“You’re obsessing, and it’s clouding your judgment.”
“I don’t need judgment. I need a plan.” Dorian hit the intercom for Veronica.
“Brilliant!” Aiden resumed his spot in Dorian’s chair, leaning back and propping his feet on the desk. “I’ll be over here, popping the popcorn, watching your life implode.”
Veronica strolled into the office, her eyes bright and eager. “Ready for lunch? I was thinking we could try the new Thai place on—”
“Never mind lunch,” Dorian said. “I need to ask you a question. If you were a woman—”
“Seriously?” She popped her hands on her hips, glaring at him.
“Off to a stellar start, mate,” Aiden said. “You really know how to make a girl feel special.”
Dorian shook his head, flustered. “What I mean to say is… If you were a woman who’d just started seeing someone new, and that someone wanted you to know he cared—not in an overwhelming way, but—”
“Big gesture,” Veronica said with a confident nod. “That’s the way to do it.”
“Gesture. You mean, like a gift?”
“Yeah, something to let her know you’re thinking of her. But not just any gift. It has to be meaningful—something you know she’ll appreciate.”
Dorian nodded, considering his options. “She did quite like the Ferrari. Maybe I should—”
“Ferrari?” Veronica laughed. “Bless your heart. You one-percenters are just adorable!”
“Too grand?”
“I was thinking flowers, not Ferraris. But hey, you do you. In the meantime, I’m ordering some Th
ai. And maybe a raise, since managing your love life is definitely not in my job description.”
Dorian watched her leave, his mind already percolating.
“She’s right, you know,” Aiden said.
“Yes—have HR put in the paperwork. Twenty percent ought to do it.” Then, with a new idea taking root, he grabbed his phone, grinned at Aiden, and said, “Wish me luck.”
Aiden laughed. “How about I wish you celibate? It’ll be much better for our bottom line.”
Chapter Forty-Two
Charley wasn’t sure if there was a patron saint of thieves and liars, but someone was definitely looking out for her.
It felt like a miracle. Ever since their meeting, Rudy and Travis had backed off, allowing her to work from home all week with no more than a few texts and check-in calls.
She suspected they were busy gathering more intel from Travis’ surveillance people, but she wasn’t going to ask. For now, she enjoyed the respite, spending quality time with Sasha—breakfast at Perk during Sasha’s morning shifts, to make sure Rudy stayed away. Fancy lunches in the city, courtesy of the credit card Rudy provided. And last night, she’d finally caved in to Sasha’s incessant begging for a vampire movie marathon, seeing the bloodsucking fiends in a whole new light.
It made her miss Dorian even more, and she felt horrible about dodging his calls and texts. She did want to see him again—as soon as possible—but she needed more time. Time to get a better handle on Rudy’s plans. Time to strategize. Time to decide what—and how—to confess.
Every time her phone lit up with his name, her insides went as fizzy as a glass of champagne, her body heating up as if he were there beside her, taking charge of her pleasure with every delicious kiss.
But for the time being, she had to keep playing her role, convincing Rudy she was still an asset.
Friday morning, she sat on her bed with her earbuds in, poring over the Ravenswood schematics. In her notebook, she’d made a list of some of the artwork she’d found, and now she marked off their locations on the floor plan with a red marker, deliberately leaving off the pieces from the stolen cache.