Page 4 of A Secret and a Lie
“Someone hasto. You spend so much time fretting about the rest of us and never leave any time to worry about yourself. When’s the last time you went out?” Her golden eyes are warm, melting the outer edges of my icy heart.
She knows the answer, but I play along. “On a date? Last night. I met—”
“I don’t mean a client, Gen.” Her words match her gentle gaze, and part of me wants to hug her for her constant kindness. The other part wants to deny the truth of her words, opting for combative. I refuse to let that side win. “I’m talking about a real date with someone you want to get to know intellectuallyandintimately. A date with a person who has your belly flipping every time your phone lights up with a message. The kind of dating that has you analyzing their every word for the next month, but in the best way.Thatkind of date.”
I sigh, leaning back in my chair. “It’s…been a while.”Fourteen years too long.The truth of that statement is painful, but I try not to let that show. Corinne’s been determined to help me find someone to spend my life with for years, but I’ve accepted the fact that I’ll never find the same kind of connection that she and Brett share. That’s not a bad thing; I’m married to my job, and I genuinely love it. But sometimes, in the middle of the night, I wonder what it might be like to be curled up next to someone who cares for me, our bodies pressed together in safe, serene slumber.
“Exactly,” she confirms what she already knew. “That’s it, you’re leaving. Now.”
I startle, my eyes going wide at her assertiveness.Go you, Corinne.
“There’s a new bar on Congress. According to Brett, all the up-and-coming hotshots are hitting that place.”
Her husband is a private chef in the city and always knows therestaurants and bars that are lighting up the map. Another sigh escapes me, this one heavier, acknowledging the oppressive truth of her statement, even if I don’t want to.
“Fine,” I concede, because she’s right. I work, sleep, hit the treadmill, and then begin again like a workaholic hamster on a wheel.
She glows, a grin splitting her face in half as she shuffles me out of the office, and I reach for my purse at the last second. She’s the only one I would trust to shut my office down behind me. Besides, nothing oftruevalue is here, anyway. Sure, there are client lists—though none of my own—but everything is coded in a way that only I can decipher.
“You better not come in to work tomorrow without a story about how you had the best night of your life,” Corinne declares just before the elevator doors close, and I smirk. We both know that I’m coming back to work in the morning with or without a good story—or a good fucking.
I’ve had sex, of course, but it’s been ages—maybe a decade or so—since anyone other than myself has been responsible for making starlight burst behind my eyelids and my body float on a cloud of bliss.
I stride through the lobby, nodding to Lex and Jeffery, who are on duty on the first floor tonight, and step out onto the sidewalk. Pedestrians bustle around me, heading home from work and ducking into nearby restaurants. Though it’s quieter on the street than it would’ve been a few hours ago, rush hour having slowed now that people have crawled into their dens for the evening.
My heels click as I stroll down the street in the direction of the bar Corinne mentioned, and I let my mind wander back to Henry’s parting words. Is he warning me about a new threat to my life and business? Or is this the same danger I’ve been facing for years?
With my stomach in knots, I make a mental note to speak to Marcus about tightening security tomorrow. I can’t be too careful, especially where my employees are concerned. While everyone whoworks for me is cognizant of the risks associated with their jobs, I won’t take a chance with their lives.
This game of Russian roulette is rigged, stacked against us all, but winning is the only outcome I’ll accept. That’s why I carry a gun of my own; something far more dangerous than any actual firearm. After all, intelligence is a blade and knowledge is power.
The walk signal changes, permitting me to cross the street amid the small throng of people. Half a block more, I duck inside my destination.
I, a lone wolf, step into the wolves’ den, the sconces on the dark wall giving off ambient light. The predators murmur amongst themselves, some laughing, some conspiring. They’re all part of the same pack, whether they know it or not.
Bypassing the hostess, I prowl straight for the bar, settling into the corner seat. Jazz music filters through the speakers as the bartender slides over to me, and I order a Prosecco, planning to eat the dinner I paid my private chef to leave in my refrigerator at home.
When my crisp flute of Prosecco is delivered, I sip on the cold bubbly, the invigorating fizz bursting to life on my tongue. Scrolling through my email inbox, I type out a reply to an encrypted email from my client, Julien Winston, accepting his request to take me as his date to a black-tie event next week.
Julien, a senator from Connecticut, only ever asks me to be his date, never for anything sexual, which makes keeping him on my client list a no-brainer.
“What are you celebrating?”
Glancing up from my phone just as I hitsend, my gaze clashes with eyes the color of an endless ocean meeting the horizon: vast, deep-blue irises that, much like the sea, mask what’s hiding below the surface.
Strength, power, and authority emanate from this stranger, his aura telling me that he, too, is on his own, unsure of the pack he runs with—if he runs with one at all. I can smell the uncertainty on him,one solitary wolf sizing up the other, sniffing me out to discover if I’m friend or foe.
I hold his attention for a moment longer before my eyes flicker over the rest of his face. He’s exceptionally handsome; that much is painfully obvious. He’s not the kind of attractive that you see every day; no, he’s the kind of striking that will have you giving him a double take on the street. The corner of his luscious lips is quirked up, waiting for my response.
Reaching for the stem of my flute, I stare at the sparkling bubbles that pop and float along the surface of the straw-colored drink.
Bubbly isn’t typically my cocktail of choice, but it felt right today. Since it’s a celebratory beverage, I like to choose something to celebrate when I drink it. Even small wins should be commemorated as grandly as the big ones. Today, I’m celebrating the fact that I didn’t get raided or arrested. I wasn’t forced to organize anyone’s disappearance. I didn’t have to kill anyone. My secrets and lies are tucked safely away. That’s a big fucking deal and something I should recognize, honor even.
“I survived Thursday,” I remark casually to the handsome stranger. Lifting the glass to my lips, I take a sip, mentally toasting myself.
“Rough day?” he asks, his voice a low alto-pitch that settles over my skin, dragging me deeper into the clutches of his murky shadows. Pretty soon, I’m going to be too lost in that cloudy haze that it’ll be impossible to find my way back out.
It’s the kind of voice that has me desperate to call himSir.
