Page 36 of Sinful Beauty

He grunts. “What are you doing at home so late in the day? I thought the point was to be in the office.”

“You are tracking my mobile.” I shake my head. “Keeping tabs.”

“It’s for your own good. Go on. Explain yourself.”

“It’s all part of the role. Right now, Pelz is worried I’m gunning for his job. I’ll play the spoiled kid card to ease those fears. That’s all.”

I also spent the morning catching up on updates from a couple of projects. In my line of work, it’s important to stay abreast of the news. It pays to be informed.

“All right then. Well, I wasn’t just calling to tickle fuck you. I have some news.”

The line goes silent.

“And?” I prompt.

“Right. Anton Solonov popped up in Moscow.”

“One of ours saw him?”

“No. But we have an authenticated photo.”

“It’s no surprise he’d go there. He only comes up in countries that won’t let us retrieve him. Did this source see who he met with?”

“One of the Wagner mercenaries.”

“Might be taking on another job.”

“Possibly.”

“You’ve still got Salo under watch?”

“For now. He’s a vegetable. My guess is his wife will pull the plug soon.”

“Why hasn’t she yet?”

“Doctors tell her he may wake up. And something about his brain waves are still flowing.”

Which means he’s not dead. Pointing this out to Nigel would be pointless.

“Alright. If that’s it, I’m off.” I could tell him Lucia Olivieri might be involved, and my connection might prove highly valuable, but I don’t need him repeating her name to others, not until I know if there’s any merit.

“Get your arse to the office. I think we’ve spoilt you, letting you pick your own hours.”

“Sod off.”

“Keep that mobile on you.”

Less than thirty minutes later, and I’m walking into Lumina’s headquarters. I still remember when the nameplate outside held my family name. I’d felt like big shit walking beneath letters taller than me that spelled out my last name. My grandfather expected it would remain in the family for generations to come.

My parents failed him in several ways. One, they produced only one offspring. Two, they didn’t place stipulations on said offspring that required him to partake in the family business. And three, perhaps the worst insult, they sold the company to corporate vultures. If there were such a thing as ghosts, he’d haunt my parents for the rest of their lives on earth.

The buttoned-up version of Lucia sits at her desk, head bowed, working away on a presentation. Today she’s wearing a winter white sweater dress that hugs her curves and contrasts with her dark hair and sugary sweet skin. Peltz’s office door is closed and there’s no one in the hall, so I step up behind her, breathing in a light floral scent.

From my vantage point, my view is of the smooth curve of her voluptuous breasts.

“Busy morning?”

She jumps, and only then do I realize she has earbuds in.

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