Page 71 of Ruthless Wars

“Can I see them?” Paco asks, resting back in his chair as he enjoys another sip of his drink.

I slide my phone from my pocket, unlocking it and pulling up the text from Corey’s number. His name isn’t programmed in the phone—just his number. So, I’m not terribly concerned about letting Paco take a look.

“Jeez,” Paco says with a huff. “What is this? Four-point font?” He expands the view, studying the frames as he moves the image around, and makes small talk. “So, how’s Corey?”

“You know Corey? And just from his number?” I ask.

Paco says nothing, smiling and staying busy going through frame by painstaking frame with the phone.

Margot throws me a bone. “Paco has something like a photographic memory.”

He gives her a knowing glance. “Something like that.”

It makes me wonder just how much privileged information is rattling around in this guy’s brain.

“Ah,” Paco finally says, handing me back the phone. “You and the press assumed Margot was still married, and I know why. My hunch is everyone got the same document. But first, did you say it?"

"Say what?"

"That you thought Margot was married. Did you say it out loud?”

I nod. “I confronted her with it.”

“Where?” he asks.

“In my office.”

“Okay. I can have a sweeper team in your building in an hour. Your office is bugged. Maybe others are too.”

“You should do Long Multinational first,” I say as graciously as I can. “The media leak had to come from Travis.” With that out of the way, I return to the important part of the conversation. The piece that's pivotal. Life changing. “So, you’re saying Margot isn’t married?”

“Nope.”

I just stare at his smirk, wondering how much pleasure Paco derives from keeping me in suspense. By the way his smile grows, it’s a cheap thrill he enjoys, and I’m happy to indulge him if it’ll clear this up eventually.

“Any day, Paco,” Margot says, losing her cool first.

“The original is in German from some investigator in Austria. The second is its translation into English. But they didn’t translate the date of divorce correctly. They just copied the numbers over. Date of divorce—eight five.” Paco begins a light chuckle that quickly turns into a belly laugh.

“And?” I ask impatiently. “That’s the date her divorce is scheduled to be final, right? August fifth.”

Margot’s face falls into her hand, and Paco wags a finger at me with a tsk-tsk.

“Legal documents don’t have predictive divorce dates. Dates are always in the past. Birth. Death. Marriage. Divorce. Whoever translated this didn’t translate the number properly. In Europe, the day is first and the month is second. It’s not August fifth. It’s May eighth. Roddie and Margot’s divorce was finalized in May.”

Bashfully, Margot peeks at us through her fingers. “I should’ve figured that out.”

“Hey,” Paco says with a grin. “Maybe now you’ll change your mind on the ass-pain of a flight to Vienna.”

My chest squeezes, and I face her, cupping her jaw as I hold her close. “You’re leaving again?”

Her shrug is coy, and her small hand grips mine as she presses her cheek into my palm. “I don’t know. Maybe not. If I have a reason to stay.”

The smile on Margot’s full lips tempts me into devouring her, kissing and nipping and tasting every part of that mouth in a way that makes me forget everything else but her.

Until Paco clears his throat. “We still have the issue of the Alliance. And all the attention this has caused.”

“Spoilsport,” Margot says, pouting those full lips to the point I steal one more kiss before I face the music.

---