Page 49 of Hard Limits

“Uh…”

He leaned in close, so close that his lips brushed my ear. I wasn’t prepared for the flood of heat between my legs, or for my knees to buckle the way they did.

“Buy the purse, Meera, and the shoes. Quickly. Then meet me at the gate.”

Oh. My. Gosh.

The New York branch of Nyx occupied a row of four converted brownstones in the Upper East Side. From the outside, there was no hint as to what might lie within, just a discreet entrance flanked by two topiary bay trees and a small brass plaque with a number on it. The real estate alone must have been worth millions.

But inside, what a mess. The laundry room was blackened with soot, and the twisted, melted hulk of the faulty machine gaped in a silent scream. The kitchen next door was unusable, the walls stained, the air thick with the stink of smoke. A professional cleaning crew was on the way, an electrician too, but their work would take several days.

Downstairs in the basement, temporary lights illuminated the three flooded rooms. Dirty water had run through the ceiling ducts and poured onto the soft furnishings. Carpet squelched underfoot.

“At least it only hit three of the private rooms.” Jarrod poked at a soggy mattress. “The bar escaped unscathed.”

Mr. Vale surveyed the damage. He seemed remarkably calm, considering. I gawked at the remains of the furnishings themselves—the huge wooden X screwed to one wall with a leather cuff dangling from each arm, the weird swing hanging from the ceiling, the squat little seat that looked a bit like the commode chairs we used in the hospital but undoubtedly wasn’t. I’d have to google that one.

Or perhaps not.

“We need to get everything dried out,” Mr. Vale said.

“I’ve hired ten dehumidifiers. They’ll be here”—Jarrod checked his watch—“in less than an hour. The guy’s dropping them off this evening as a favour.”

“And the dumpsters?”

“They’re arriving tomorrow morning.”

“How are the clients?”

“Okay, for the most part. One or two are unhappy. We’ve rerouted Congressman—” Jarrod glanced at me and raised an eyebrow, checking whether it was okay to mention names.

“It’s fine,” Mr. Vale told him.

“We’ve rerouted Congressman McCall to Virginia, and Bernie Mathis to Boston.” There was a Boston branch? I’d have to avoid that one. “Ted Cutter’s going to stay in LA and use the facilities there.”

“What did you offer the others?”

“Complimentary dinner to everyone, a free visit for the more disgruntled. Think we’ll be up and running by next week?”

“I hope so. Justin promised to send half a dozen guys from Norquist Construction to help out. They’ll be here in the morning, and then we’ll just need to arrange the materials and replace the furniture. Meera can help with that if you give her a list of what we need. She’ll also require a room for the night.”

“Here?”

“Yes.”

“And you?”

“I’ll stay at home with Carissa, but I’ll be back early.”

Mr. Vale planned to stay with Carissa? The thought shouldn’t have made me feel nauseated, but it did. And worse, I knew why he had to go: because of me. If I was here, he couldn’t be. I almost offered to stay in a hotel, but I stopped myself in the nick of time. Jarrod might not know about the problems between the Vales, and I wasn’t going to spill the secret.

“Should I pick up breakfast for everyone in the morning?” I offered instead. “I mean, with the kitchen being out of use.”

Mr. Vale flashed me a tight little smile. “Thank you, Meera. We’d appreciate it.”

There she was. The dragon herself.

Carissa Dunn was a slender blonde, two inches taller than me with the heels she was wearing, two inches shorter without. Stylish and pretty in a polished way, but I already knew her beauty only went skin deep. What was she doing here? She picked her way across the wreckage of the laundry room to where I was holding a flashlight for the electrician. Mr. Vale had said it was all hands on deck, help where I could. So there I was—balanced on a stool while the man peered at melted wire. Thank goodness I’d worn pants and ballet pumps today.

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