Page 112 of Cruel Hearts

I drink a whiskey sour and Nathalie sips champagne. She quickly reaches the bottom of the glass.

I grit my teeth in annoyance.

She knows what we’re trying to do, and I wish she would at least try to understand how dangerous this is. She’s been in on the plans since ground zero. Maybe I should have coached hermore, but she’d be even angrier than she is now. She’s smart—all I can do is trust her. That’s a big part of the problem. I don’t.

Paparazzi loiter outside the restaurant like I knew they would be, but I still sigh in frustration. Douglas glides to a stop at the curb, and the eager paps turn our way. Limos mean celebrities. I step out of the car and twist to help Nathalie out, but Douglas slams the door trapping her inside.

I don’t see her reaction. The windows are tinted too dark.

Douglas turns to address me, tears wetting his eyes. “What is it?” I ask in alarm, a hand to his shoulder. Rarely have I seen him cry. The night Ash shot Stella was one of those few times.

He sets his face and says stiffly, “I’m sorry, Zane. I’ve worked for your family for over thirty years. I drove you and Mrs. Maddox home from the hospital when you were born, and I feel I have the right to say this. You have no business being with thiswoman—” he says the word like an expletive— “when Stella, Miss Mayfair, is lying in the morgue. She was the epitome of grace and kindness, just like your mother, and you have no right.”

What?

My mind races as reporters yell at me to answer their questions. The hospital. Douglas drove us to the emergency room and was there when I tried to talk to the reporters. What had I looked like, unable to speak around the pain breaking my heart? The detective questioned me, and then Douglas drove me to the hotel. I grieved in the backseat. That wasn’t pretend. Loss, betrayal. I couldn’t think of anything else. I really thought Paulo had shot Stella. Douglas dropped me off...I sent him home...and never told him Stella’s alive and that her death is a charade.

Fuck.

“Stella was someone special. I don’t care if you and she had a falling out. I saw the pictures of her and Sergio Cardello, thesame as everyone else in the city. Whether I believe them or not is of no concern. That woman was generous, and she had a big heart. If she left you, she had good reason, and she doesn’t deserve her memory tarnished in this way.”

I open my mouth to stop his tirade, but he holds up a hand. “I know I’m out of bounds, and if you want to terminate me for voicing my thoughts, so be it.”

The paparazzi snap pictures of me talking to my driver. The gossip sites online will be full of speculation about what we’re arguing about. I wish he would have picked a better time to confront me, but there’s nothing I can do about it now except fix it as quickly as possible.

I’m stupid for not asking for his help. When things start moving, he’ll be a valuable asset, and he should have been in on this from the moment I decided to work with Stella, Denton, and Max. No, before that. The second I found the ring I gave Stella in Ash’s desk drawer. He would have found her and kept her safe. He would have believed her.

His tears have dried and in their place is anger and disdain.

I hold out my hand. He doesn’t want to shake it, but he finally does. I pull him into a hug, our hands clasped between us. Murmuring into his ear, I say, “We’re not on the same page. Go to the Crowne. Tell the manager I sent you and ask to see Mel Sanchez. Everyone is in the Presidential Suite on the top floor.”

He tries to step back. “Stella. Miss Mayfair—”

“Is alive. She’s hurt, but she’s alive. Mel will fill you in. It’s my fault you’ve been left in the dark. My apologies, Douglas. My only defense is I’m not very good at this, but I’m getting better.” I squeeze his hand once more and let him go.

His face stoic, revealing nothing of our conversation, he touches the tip of his fingers to his cap.

With his professionalism back in place, he opens the door for Nat, and she’s fuming. She should be used to being arm candy—and being treated as such—but she’s part of the team and she feels that’s given her some rights. Maybe including her did put us on an equal footing, but a woman like her...if I give her an inch, she’ll demand a mile. She was more docile when the power scale was tipped away from her, but now she knows I need her and she’s not afraid to remind me.

Nat steps onto the sidewalk and pastes a smile on her face. The paparazzi love her. She took care of her mother and did what she could to pay bills and put food on the table. Not that they know what she’s been doing,reallybeen doing, but it was easy enough for them to find out she was on the payroll at Ladies and Gentlemen and the reason why she accepted Clayton’s offer of employment.

I can see her writing a tell-all book one day. Maybe in the end, I’ll let her. She can divulge all the ways she helped push Black Enterprises to its knees.

As we walk up to the front doors of the restaurant, the reporters and photographers shout at us. I wrap my arm around Nat’s waist, tuck her close to my side, and answer the pertinent questions.

“What will happen to Stella Mayfair’s body?”

I repeat what I told Ash. “The KCPD hasn’t released her body. When they do, I’ll hold a memorial service, and anyone who would like to attend will be welcome to. She grew up in King’s Crossing’s foster care system, and she may have a few foster brothers, sisters, and parents who would like to pay their respects.”

“Do they have any leads on who shot her?”

Shaking my head, I say, “No. Because of a gang turf war, every available officer was needed elsewhere. By the time an officer arrived at the scene, the shooter had disappeared, but as of right now, the case is still open.”

“Are you and Miss Barton engaged?”

I force cheer into my voice. “Yes, and I’m over the moon that Nathalie has agreed to be my wife. We plan to have a long engagement and enjoy each other before the wedding madness starts.”

She flashes me a dazzling smile. “Maybe not too long,” she teases.

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