Page 46 of The Butcher

He smirked at my taunt. “I’ve had enough.”

The waitress took our plates then left the dessert menu behind, which he didn’t look at.

“I think your friend lost money tonight.” He seemed to understand I was just teasing him rather than actually insulting him, so I continued with it.

He smiled even wider. “Good. He’s an asshole.”

“Your friend is an asshole?”

“They’re all assholes.”

“You know what they say, if everyone is an asshole, then you’re probably the asshole.”

“Oh, I’m definitely an asshole,” he said. “But they’re assholes too.” He drank from his glass again, the ice cubes tilting with the angle of the glass. When it was empty, he returned it to the table and ordered another.

I was surprised he didn’t ask how I was doing, why I’d gone dark for nearly a week, but that was something I liked about him. He never applied pressure to delicate matters. For a man, he had incredible intuition. For a man who could lift a car, he was awfully gentle when he needed to be. “How have you been?”

“Busy.”

“With work?”

“I don’t care for politics—but if you don’t care for politics, you’ll be governed by your inferiors.”

“Are you involved in the day-to-day aspects of the Senate?”

“Sometimes. But right now, my time has been focused on finding someone who’s always one step ahead of me.”

“And who’s that?”

“I told you trafficking is a problem, particularly in Paris.”

“Yes, I remember.”

“There’s this asshole who has a whole enterprise centered around it.”

“Then shouldn’t he be easy to find?” I asked.

“No one wants to stick out their neck and snitch, which I get. If they snitch on him, then they can’t be trusted not to snitch on others. And not to mention, they’ll be hung and gutted for the transgression. He’s managed to shut up an entire city, and he knows me well enough to avoid a confrontation.”

“How does he know you well if you’re enemies?”

His fingers rested on the top of his glass, and he gave it a quick shake before he took a drink. “It’s a long story.” Something in his tone suggested it was a story I would never hear, but he was nice enough not to ignore me or shut down the question entirely.

I hadn’t known him very long, but I respected him like hell, respected him too much to pry. “Are you going to get a dessert?”

His mood was still slightly sour. “Sweets aren’t my thing.”

“Do you mind if I get something?”

A slow smile melted over his mouth, something about me getting something sweet bringing affection to his eyes. “Not at all, sweetheart.” He placed the communal menu in front of me. “What are you thinking?”

I looked down at the list. “I love chocolate cake, but I’ve got a weak spot for profiteroles.”

“Know how that goes…”

When the waitress came over, I ordered the pastry with a cup of coffee. “Thanks for letting me get something.”

“I’m glad to see you eat.”

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