Page 144 of What's Left of Us

“Actually, I specifically want to work with Luca Carbone.” I cut her off, flashing my best smile. “He and I go way back. I’m sure if you tell him that Lincoln Danforth is here to see him, he’ll find the time in his busy schedule to fit me in.”

Her hesitation is momentary before she picks up the phone. “If you know him…”

She clears her throat as the phone rings. “Mr. Carbone? It’s Lyla at the front desk. I have a Lincoln Danforth here to speak with you about the property on Striker.” Her top two teeth dig into her bottom lip as she listens to his reply before her eyes flick up to mine. “Yes, sir. Okay. Absolutely.”

When she puts the phone back onto the receiver, she paints a brighter smile on her face and stands to reveal an even tighter skirt than the shirt hugging her large breasts.

I have a feeling I know why Luca likes to keep her as the welcoming committee.

“This way,” she directs, gesturing toward the hallway. The swivel to her hips makes me wonder if her boss told her to put on a show. Everything about the woman in front of me seems fake. Forced.

When she turns in front of the door at the end of the hall, she reaches for the handle. “Mr. Carbone has a meeting in twenty minutes that’s very important, but he says he’ll see you.”

“Thank you, Lyla.”

Her eyes do a brief scan down the front of me before she clears her throat. “You’re welcome, Mr. Danforth.”

Opening the door, I step into a small conference room where Luca Carbone is seated at the end of a polished oak table with papers scattered around him. He doesn’t look up right away when I step in, but says, “Close the door, Detective. I’m sure this conversation doesn’t require an audience.”

I wink at Lyla, who flushes and steps away, and I wonder if she’s made it a habit to stand near the doors during meetings. “This is quite the establishment.”

He finishes writing down whatever he’s working on and finally lifts his gaze. “It was surprising to hear you, of all people, asking for me. Especially over such a…historical house.”

By historical, he means expensive. “What can I say. I’m full of surprises.”

His eyes glimmer. “I’m sure that’s true.”

I pull out the chair furthest from him and drop into it. “I figured your office would be a little nicer. Not on your father’s good side these days?”

He doesn’t take the bait like I hope he would. “I prefer working in here. There’s more space. The office I have in my father’s building is a little too stuffy for my taste and far too removed if he expects this place to run smoothly.”

I’ll give him this: he’s more hands-on than I expect him to be. The blueprints with notes in front of him back that up. “I figured you’d be like most nepo babies and complain about a long day’s work.”

A thoughtful noise rises from him. “Would you like coffee?” he asks, unfazed by my taunts.

He walks over to the table in the corner with two coffee makers and the fixings to go in them. He grabs two cups and fills them each. “How do you like it?”

I watch him doctor one. “Black.”

“Bitter. Seems oddly fitting.”

I don’t comment as he passes me the other cup and takes his seat again. “Your presence at the Del Rossi dinners has been…noticed,” he says, grinning behind the cup he lifts to his lips.

Noticed. Not missed.

“I’m sure you cry yourself to sleep every time you don’t get a chance to see my pretty face there, Carbone,” I answer plainly.

His grin only spreads. “I like you, Detective.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

“Indeed.” He hums, setting his mug down and picking up the pen he’d discarded. “But let’s talk about what you really came here for. We both know you can’t afford another house, and I highly doubt you’re looking to sell the one you just bought. You’d never get the same interest rate now that the market has neutralized, and you sure as hell wouldn’t get your money back.”

I’m not surprised he knows that information, but it still grates on my nerves, nonetheless. “It’s sweet that you keep up on me. It makes me feel so special.”

“Anything for somebody I go way back with,” he muses dryly. “In fact—”

Before he can finish his thought, the cell beside him rings, and his nostrils flare at whatever name pops up on the screen.

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