Page 18 of Fool's Gold

I turn at the door, blocking her entrance with my shoulders. “I already have an assistant. We’re perfectly capable of handling things on our own. Tell Stanic I appreciate his thoughtfulness.” My own grin strains the muscles of my face.

Rather than backing down, Celeste strides forward. Her skirt is cut just above her midthigh with an enticing slit on one side. Her thighs are supple and pale, a distinct contrast to Empire’s, how they used to be before the plane crash.

Any other time in my life, I would have made a pass for Celeste.

Or, judging from the molten emotion in her eyes, done some teasing and a little bit of coaxing to have her bent over my desk. Platinum blonde hair in cool tones falls down her spine toward the small of her back, but the color is all wrong.

It’s too cold.

Not like Empire’s hair.

Celeste notes my appraising look and narrows her eyes in appreciation. “Your assistant can’t do the things I do.”

“Where is she?”

“Not here. She was sent packing for the day.”

I bristle at her flippancy. “Under whose authority?”

“Stanic’s.” His name is a blast, a reprimand, and a threat all balled up into two syllables.

A small laugh accompanies the name, the meaning clear: I should know better.

I might have been out of the game, but that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten the rules. They’ve always been the same. You jump when Stanic snaps his fingers, and you crawl on your belly through the shit once you’re done.

Celeste might be a pretty face with a fucking banging body, but she’s a threat. Even more so because she’s the eyes and ears Stanic has put into place to make sure I’m doing everything I’m supposed to do. I have no doubt there are cameras around my office now, hiding in places where I’ll never find them without a professional sweep.

Their feeds are probably relaying this right now.

Thinking about it makes me see red.

“If you people did anything to Sherry, I swear to god—” I begin.

Celeste interrupts with a louder round of bitter laughter, and my fingers twitch. I’ve never hit a woman. Now might be the time to start.

Gritting my teeth, I glare at her, standing up straighter.

“You people,” she repeats. “That’s a good one, Mr. Ortega. We are your people, and you are ours. You’d do well to remember it in the future. It will make any deal much easier to swallow.”

She licks her lips, adding weight and too many implications to her last word.

My glare shifts into grimace territory, a dark thread of something raging and bitter pulling the back of my heart until it constricts. “I’m never going to be one of you. I might have to tap-dance to this bullshit tune you’ve got going, but if anything happens to Sherry, it’s going to be the end of things really quick.”

“Your assistant is fine. Probably off to play some sort of card game with a group of ladies who smell of mothballs and old-lady perfume.” Celeste waves her hand.

Sherry is old, but she’s anything but cliché. And she’s got more uniqueness in the gnarled nail of her pinkie toe than Celeste does in her entire body.

“Listen. You show up here without a fucking call to warn me. It’s a power move I’ve seen a thousand times before and from people who pull it off better than you. I know the drill.” I turn my back on her and stalk toward my desk, knowing that Celeste has followed without hearing her move. Her energy bores into my back like the fucking point of a laser. “Now, if you’re not going to get the fuck out of here and piss off, you’re going to at least listen to me when I give you a goddamn order and answer my questions when I ask them.”

A bit of rage and a bit of temper, but she’s pissed me off, and civility is out the window.

When I turn back to Celeste, she stands with her shoulders back, posture impeccable. Dispassionate and calm even under the brush of my temper.

“Where’s the girl?”

The first thing out of her mouth is in direct contrast to my tirade, and my blood boils. My face goes hot, and a muscle at my temple ticks. Knee deep in goddamn devils, and there’s nothing I can do about it. Not without shooting myself right in the foot, and I need both to keep tap dancing.

I shake my head. “You deal with me, not her,” I reply.

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