Page 75 of Sinful Blaze

The question of the hour, though: what the fuck is he doing here, schmoozing up to the senator?

“Chekhov! As I live and breathe!” Alisher grins as he booms my name with an outstretched hand. “We were just talking about you!”

A glance at the senator confirms that they were, in fact, talking about me. And Brennan really, really didn’t want me to know about that.

Interesting.

I shake Alisher’s hand and return his charming smile with my own. “Apologies for such a dull topic of conversation.”

“Hardly! You know, I have to admit some jealousy on my part. You’ve been the leader in weapons manufacturing for… shit, how many years? And that takes an incredible amount of development to even get updates off the ground, let alone new innovations for our armed forces.”

Again, I cast a glance at Brennan. They dared discuss me and my business? Behind my back?

“Well, it’s about throwing darts at the wall and seeing what sticks. We can’t have everything, no matter how hard we try.”

Alisher claps a hand on my shoulder as he passes. “But we do try, am I right?”

Fucking snake. He’s up to something. I can practically smell it in the air.

“Thanks for everything, Senator,” he adds when he reaches the lobby door. “We’ll be in touch!”

The second that door closes behind Alisher, I spin around to glare at Brennan. “What?—”

“It is standard policy, Mr. Chekhov,” he interrupts with a placating hand, “to solicit multiple bids from multiple companies.”

My teeth grind together as I resist the urge to throttle him against the wall. “I’m aware of the policies, Senator.”

“So you understand?—”

“No, actually, I do not.” I take a deep breath and once again remind myself that I can’t plant my fist in his face—at least not here and now—no matter how much I want to. “We’ve been in talks on this deal for over six months. Six. Goddamn. Months. And now, you want to hedge your bids? With Alisher?”

Brennan straightens his tie, like he’s the one in charge of what’s happening here. “What I do and how I do it is my concern, Mr. Chekhov. Not yours.”

I’m so tempted to reference his latest romps at an out-of-town hotel as an example of “what” and “how” he does “things.” One glance at his assistant, however, makes me bite my tongue. There’s no telling who knows how much in this office, and less is always better. Swing a weapon too often and people learn not to be afraid of it.

“I’ll be in touch,” I snarl instead.

Nothing in my gut buys the bullshit he’s spewing. It nags at me on the way to the elevator and all the way down to the parking garage floor.

Six months of clear sailing.

What’s changed?

I snatch up my phone and dial. “Sofi—tail Brennan around the fucking clock. I want eyes on him twenty-four-seven.” I shoulder through the elevator doors and beeline for my car. “Something’s up.”

“Oh?” my sister’s voice chirps on the other end. “Anything special I should be on the lookout for?”

“I need to know everything about every single person he talks to. Housekeeping staff, the homeless guy on the street, I don’t fucking care. Don’t overlook a single one. No bribe is too high, either. Find out what you can about his recent behavior.”

“You suspect something.”

“I suspect a lot of somethings. I just have to figure out how many of them might hurt us.”

28

DAPHNE

“Ma’am, please. You know I have orders.”

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