Page 97 of Only the Devil
* * *
Quinn’s response comes through almost immediately.
* * *
Quinn
Holy shit. It’s everywhere — Twitter, TikTok, LinkedIn. Someone got the whole thing on video.
Chapter 32
Daisy
My stomach flips — I can’t tell whether it’s excitement or terror. I twist one of my rings around my finger until the light pink skin burns, worn raw from constant worrying.
* * *
Quinn
FBI contacts are “taking a hard look.” SEC source says informal discussions are happening. No official word yet, but Sterling’s called two numbers that are registered to law firms.
* * *
I lean back against the leather seat, watching Noah thread through traffic while keeping one eye on the rearview. The adrenaline from the presentation is draining away, leaving me shaky and wired.
* * *
Quinn
#SterlingExposed is trending. Every financial journalist in the city must be on this. We broke the internet, girl.
* * *
A laugh bubbles up from somewhere deep in my chest—half hysteria, half triumph. We did it. After weeks of working for Sterling Financial, of pretending to be charmed by his sleazy pitches and outright lies, we finally exposed him.
“Everything okay back there?” Noah’s voice is calm, professional. I wonder if all KOAN operatives have that same steady tone, or if it’s something they teach in the military.
“Better than okay,” I say, still staring at my phone as more messages pour in from Quinn. “It’s working. Everything’s working.”
My phone buzzes with an incoming call. Jake.
“Hey,” I answer, probably sounding breathless.
“How’s my girl holding up?” His Southern drawl thickens when he checks on me; it’s alarming how much I like it.
“I’m good. Quinn says it’s everywhere. The FBI?—”
“I heard. Sterling’s in full damage-control mode. Called his lawyers, his PR team, and what looks like a crisis firm.” His voice drops. “He’s scrambling. This caught him completely off guard.”
“Where are you?”
“Following the convoy. Thompson’s got him in the back of a black sedan, probably heading to his lawyer’s office. But Daisy?” A pause. “We got him. Whatever happens next, we got the bastard. There’s no one who can shut down this investigation.”
The warmth in his voice warms my insides. Gooey and warm while talking to a guy? That’s not me. That’s my mom on any Tuesday with a date, but it’s not me. Or it wasn’t, before all of this.
Our relationship was supposed to be short-term—like this gig. But it’d be a lie to classify our relationship as a physical indulgence. The way he kissed me outside the auditorium, the way he positioned himself between me and Sterling’s rage, and heck, the way my body reacts to his voice on the phone—we’re not temporary. I don’t know how long we’ll keep this going–and I know first hand from years of watching Mom that a woman can believe she’s found the one and be wrong–but I love him. I’d be crushed if he just stopped calling or moved on. But he said he loves me, and I believe him.
“When will you be back?” I ask.
