Page 9 of The Deals We Make
“Thank you, Liesel,” I say softly.
She leaves as he picks up his coffee and takes a sip.
“So, tell me, Ms.…”
“Call me Calista.”
He nods. “Calista. What was this stunt supposed to prove?”
Once I’ve run through the ease with which I found a way into the company, from which I remove all mention of specific employees, Moore looks uneasy. By the time I mention that I need to keep the meeting brief because of his meeting with the lobbyist and that he’s probably super-busy working on the financials for a takeover of Allastrom, he’s gone gray.
Well, grayer.
And then, with two words, he strips away all pretenses of who actually holds the power in this room: “How much?”
3
VEX
Ifollow Switch’s truck as he pulls into the brain rehabilitation unit and I park my truck up alongside. Saint’s in my passenger seat.
King’s orders are that they have an escort when Switch and Sophia leave Asbury Park.
Sophia, as the sister to the current leader of the New York Cosa Nostra, is likely going to be a target for the rest of her life. And Switch will be by association, as if being a member of the Iron Outlaws weren’t enough of an issue.
None of us like being caged, but the snow this morning meant the ride would be treacherous enough as it is without using our bikes.
Winter as a biker is treacherous, but I happen to like the quiet that dusts the city when heavy snow falls.
I grab my thick, lined leather jacket and throw it on over the million other layers I’m wearing. Clumsily, I attempt to put it on without smacking Saint in the face, then pull my gloves on while he adjusts his beanie.
“Any more layers, you’re gonna look like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man,” Saint says as we step out of the truck.
“Better than becoming a walking icicle.”
We reach Switch’s truck just as they are getting out of their vehicle.
“How long do you two need?” Saint asks.
“Two hours,” Sophia says as she climbs out of the truck, snowflakes clinging to her hair.
“You made that look easy,” I say, tipping my chin towards the step down from the truck. “The exercises are working.”
Sophia smiles at that, and when she does, I see what Switch sees in her. She’s a pretty thing, and all her physio is paying off as her mobility improves. She told me yesterday that she’s probably never going to fully recover, but her dedication shows. Getting thrown through the windshield of a high-speed car will mess you up, but if there were a medal for fucking grade-A effort, Sophia would deserve it.
“It’s progress,” she agrees. “More than I thought I would make.”
Switch takes her hand. “Really fucking proud of her. She works out and does her physio like a trooper. What are you two gonna do?”
I shrug. New York is not my city. I need a bit more space around me than all these high-rises provide. “To be honest, napping in the truck was high up on my list of priorities.” I haven’t slept in twenty-eight hours.
Insomnia is a bitch. My eyes burn, but when I try to close them, my thoughts race like a runaway freight train.
Saint slaps my shoulder. “Nah, we got business.”
I look at him. “We do?”
He nods. “We do.”
