Page 67 of The Lawyer
Having been welcomed on board a near-empty first class, we take our seats, and I smile quietly as I watch her staring at the tarmac in my periphery. She’s good at keeping a distance. No one would suspect anything was happening between us. It’s the way I want to keep it for now. I doubt she truly approves of that, regardless of her agreement, but until I’ve worked out how far these feelings of attachment reach, there isn’t another route forward as far as I’m concerned.
As soon as we’re up in the air, the champagne and hor d’oeuvres are served. She takes a glass and keeps staring out the window, barely acknowledging my existence next to her. It’s probably useful considering the amount of work I should be doing, but if she had any idea how much I want to join the mile-high club right now, she’d think twice about her professional distance.
“Do you speak French?” she asks after a while.
“Yes.”
“When did you learn?”
“School.”
“Oh. I never could wrap my tongue around it. I'm usually quite good at that.” The smile I should not be showing the world regarding her erupts, and I check the filth that’s ready to fall out of my lips. “Perhaps you could show me how?”
I’m about to find some reasonable response to the taunt that doesn’t involve slutty overtones when my phone rings. Ivy. I answer and ready myself for the end of our last conversation, which she was more than likely annoyed with, but the sudden sound of gunfire makes me startle. As does the potential sound of her running. “Ivy?”
“Yes. Hold on. I’m fine.”
“Was that gunfire?”
“Yes. Shut up a minute.” More shooting occurs and the sound of a vehicle starting echoes in the background. I swallow the entirety of the champagne and stand, pacing to ease the tension that’s just overridden me. “Still there?” she asks.
“Of course, I’m still here. I could be terrified. Where the hell are you?”
“Afghanistan. But that’s not why I’m calling. What are you doing about that author?”
“You’re in a warzone and you’re bothered about a dead author?”
“Fuck. Hold on.” Crashes blare down the line, another round of gunfire near deafening me, let alone her. “Anyways.” Gears crunch and suddenly the engine’s roaring under her again. “Yes, the author?”
“We’re looking into it. My man is on it, and it's being dealt with. I really don't—”
“Honestly, you’re not giving this the credence it deserves, Landon. We’re already being vilified on social media, the papers are screaming criticism and blame, and if you carry on fucking your secretary rather than thinking strategically, we’re going to end up in a shitstorm.”
My brow arches at her tone, regardless of the clear danger she’s currently in. “Get a check of your mouth. I am not—”
“Oh, sod off with your attitude. I’m trying to help.”
“If you were trying to help, you’d be investigating for us rather than whatever you’re presently doing.”
Another crash blares down the line, hotly pursued by the sound of more crunching gears.
“Let's not discuss your miserly ways again, shall we? We’ve argued about it enough already. You know what my price is, brother.”
“Fine.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I’ll pay you.” If for nothing else, just to get her out of whatever hellhole she's in. “I don’t see why I should, but if you think you can get to the bottom of this, then get your scrawny arse back home. Preferably not in a body bag.” I can almost see the smile on her face, irrespective of her current predicament. She’s probably punching the air, congratulating herself for me giving in on this matter. “You’ll get a little over standard rate, Ivy. Don’t, for one minute, think you get family privileges.”
“God, you’re a mercenary arsehole.” I nod. “That’s nowhere near enough, and you know it. Double it, and you have a deal.”
My jaw twitches, financial accounting and family loyalties colliding. “Fine, but for that, you can deal with whatever Father’s hiding, too.”
“Good.”
“Where are you now? Safe presumably?”
“Almost. But listen, I’ve got to go now. I’ll see you soon.”
