Page 30 of House of Lies

Myles

Every bone in my body says to ignore the call, but I don’t need my life becoming even more complicated.

“Hello?”

The man on the other end of the line chuckles good-naturedly into my ear. “You sound tired. Have you been getting enough sleep?”

I fight back a groan as I go to sit in the wingback by the fire. It’s not Angelo, but I wish it was. Him I could deal with. Myles Balmont? Not tonight.

“It’s late. Can we do this another time?”

“We could have done this a week ago if you hadn’t been ignoring me.”

“If this is about a new job, I must politely decline. Like I did the last job, and the one before that, and?—”

Myles cuts in with a flippant, “Yeah, yeah. I got your announcement. At least, the girl who checks my emails did.” He hums to himself. “Stacey? Stephanie? Something with an S.”

There’s a hard knot in my stomach. I forgot Myles was still on my mailing list, which was a massive oversight on my side. This was a conversation I was planning to have in person, not delivered via email.

“I meant?—”

“Ethan, stop. Everyone knew this was coming after what happened with Becks.”

My mouth goes so dry, I can’t pry my tongue loose. Thankfully, Myles drops the subject. If anyone knows how to read a room, it’s Balmont.

“Heard you’re selling the house? So much potential, a rambling estate like that. How many acres is it again?”

I finally work moisture back into my mouth. “Hundred twenty-six.”

“Jesus,” he laughs. “Maintenance must be a bitch. So when are you back in the city?”

“This weekend, I’m hoping.”

There’s a faint clink in the background, like ice cubes bumping against the sides of a tumbler.

“Tell you what, old friend,” Myles says, his voice taking a darker, more serious tone. “You let me know when you’re this side of the world again. We need to talk.”

“Myles—”

“Not up for negotiation. By the way, me and the boys got you a little something.”

I stick my feet out toward the fire. “That sounds ominous.”

He chuckles. “Not at all. Just a little something for your years of service. A retirement gift, if you will.”

Does this mean he’s accepting the fact that I’m no longer working for him? The prospect fills me with a strange, uneasy kind of happiness. Like a bubble you know is going to burst, but you’re trying to enjoy it while it lasts.

“Thank you, Myles. But that wasn’t necessary. I have everything I could ever need.”

“Horseshit. You’ve been out of sorts lately. We found you the perfect pick-me-up.”

“A pick me up? What the hell are you sending me?”

“You mean nothing’s arrived yet? Should have been there already. I’ll check with the driver.”

The bubble has definitely burst. Myles is as predictable as a fucking dragonfly’s flight path.

Sleep evades me. My conversation with Myles keeps playing in my head, interspersed with snapshots of Olivia’s challenging green-eyed glare, the one that hisses, “Take your best shot, asshole.”

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