Page 54 of Live Love Steal
Her laugh was short. “If there’s an investigation about their murder, who do you think it will point to? Some of Audrey’s things are still in his apartment. Which will involve me, then you because…” she trailed off and motioned between us.
Another valid insight. “Isobel? We only met today. I know I have a reputation, but it isn’t for being stupid.”
She deflated into her seat. “They’re going to ask her questions.”
“And she’ll tell them the truth, right?”
Isobel nodded. “And then, they’ll ask me questions.”
I chewed on my lip to stay quiet. She needed to work this out for herself. My life was in her hands, and I was in too deep to threaten her.
Worse? A part of me expected the worst. From the moment that elevator shuddered to a stop, things had started to go wrong. None of those things was Isobel’s fault.
They were all mine.
13
The pitch - Isobel
Noah looked nothing like the picture Sketch had as his phone’s screen-saver. The rambunctious, happy kid was pale and thin. I’m sure part of that was just being sick, but another part was evident in the way he huddled in on himself. Until he saw his father, that is.
Joy is an amazing thing. He went from almost hospital paper sheet white to rosy pink. His wan expression brightened.
So did Sketch’s. Although, the shadows in his eyes remained as he picked Noah up, set him on his lap, and held him close. Then there was a pause. It was as if the bubble burst, and everyone was trying to figure out what caused it. Sharon targeted me as the cause.
“Who are you?”
The acidic tone implied a lot. Not to mention, I was wearing a sweatshirt declaring me property of a notorious motorcycle club. I wore no makeup and had none of my usual date or work clothing armor to make me feel successful, so her angry words sent my insides into a flutter of panic. But I rallied. “Isobel, nice to meet you.” I held out a hand, opting for a frontal approach.
Her eyes narrowed on it and the sweatshirt I wore. Then she turned on Sketch. “Why are you bringing one of the club whores here? You could have just left her on the mattress.”
Oof. I shook my head at Sketch, who’d opened his mouth to defend me. I went as far as raising my arm and pointing at my tattoo. That was my way to silently remind him he was iron, too.
Noah noticed. His sunken eyes were kind of sad like Sketch’s. In that, they totally looked alike. And that was one of those injustices that made my back stiffen and my jaw tense. They both deserved a lot more than what they’d gotten in life. Sketch was smart, in the street-wise sense, and that intelligence he had was obviously passed down because Noah picked up on the vibes of the room and stayed silent. But he studied me.
Which became an anomaly for Sharon to squash. I wouldn’t get that kind of scrutiny if this were a common thing. “I can wait in the common area,” I said to Sketch, cutting Sharon right out of the conversation exactly as she had.
But that just made her angrier. She aimed that at Sketch. “Is she why you didn’t answer any of my calls? You were with her?”
As far as I knew, he’d answered all of her calls until the end. I’d been there when he did.
Sketch fired back at her. “Yeah. That’s where I was, and everything you think might happen, happened, and a few things you’d never guess would happen, happened, too. All afternoon, into the evening, and we were going to keep it going right up until dawn.” His tone was sharp, sarcastic, but also firm.
I opened my mouth to course-correct, but then remembered we had to stick with our alibis. Yet, this woman was going to use that to take his son away. I shook my head. If she knew everything that happened, he’d lose his son for sure. He’d go to prison for murder. I’d go, too, because accessory to murder and covering up a murder are also crimes. And no matter what I did or said, none of it would make a difference now. I sat down in a chair near the curtained wall and pulled out my laptop to completely ignore the bitching because it was fruitless. I had a job to do tomorrow morning. If I intended to keep it, I needed to nail this presentation.
“What are you doing?” Sharon turned her vitriol on me.
“Going over my presentation,” I said calmly, even though I had an urge to bash her over the head with the device. Some of that imagined violence was because I wanted her to shut up, some of it was because if I did smash my laptop over her head, I wouldn’t have to deal with my boss anymore.
The thought of never having to deal with Jamie again was freeing.
“Presentation? For what?”
Sharon didn’t really want to know; she was just fishing for more ammunition to use against me.
I smiled. It was the same kind of one I plastered on my face when Jamie fucked up a pitch because he didn’t rehearse, and I had to gracefully step in to save the account despite being pissed as hell. “For a five-million-dollar ad account our agency wants to land. I’m leading the pitch tomorrow.”
Noah piped up. “You work for an ad agency?”
