Page 35 of Harlot (Hush)
Hush sets an example by following its own rules. Discretion is guaranteed. To expose the truth and reveal that Talent’s lover runs a prostitution ring out of the very building we’re standing in would be betrayal to us, our clients, and the legacy. We’re gathered here to celebrate Lydia’s sister’s birthday, not one of her escorts. That who, by the way, services more than a few guests in attendance tonight.
And tomorrow the blogs, vlogs, and social media rags will report that Talent Ridge is in a relationship with his secretary.
Oh, the drama.
“Sexist bullshit,” Lydia grumbles, drinking the contents of her glass in one go. “I’d rather be the fucking janitor.”
“Tony can use the help,” Wilder says matter-of-factly.
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. This conversation is outrageous and wholly one of a kind, and it’s playing like a bad joke.
A madam, a whore, and two crooked lawyers step into a bar…
Be that as it may, the banter is oddly comforting. This is what friends do. Perhaps, this is what a family is like.
“That’s enough.” Talent elbows Wilder in the side, but the back and forth still rocks on the side of playfulness.
“You’re the best paid secretary in the city, Lydia. You’ll even get to file taxes this year,” Wilder says.
And it’s important to remember that families fight, too.
“Fuck you, guys.” Lydia storms away. Her long ponytail swings as she hurries across the room to the closest bar.
Talent takes a few steps to follow her before turning on Wilder, pointing a finger in his older brother’s face. His eyebrows are pulled close together and low, and the corners of his mouth are drawn down in frustration. Any contrast in his eyes fades away, turning them into shadows. It’s a dark expression I’d expect to see on Wilder before I ever saw it on Talent, and the hair on the back of my neck stands up.
Wilder’s unmoved, staring down Talent’s finger dismissively before meeting his jet-black stare.
“It was a joke,” he says. “I’m sorry.”
As quickly as the shadows in his eyes appeared, they vanish. Talent drops his arm and sighs. “Give her a break, Wild. She has a lot on her plate.”
“Sure. Whatever you say.” Wilder holds his hands up in surrender.
Talent juts his thumb over his shoulder. “I’m going to fix this. We should have a drink. I’ll get us all a drink and grab a table.”
“Wow,” is all I have to say as he chases after Lydia.
Wilder drapes his arm over my shoulder, tucking me into his side. The bittersweet scent of champagne kisses his lips, and I take another sip from my glass to taste it in my mouth.
“Don’t sleep on Talent,” he says with a small smile. “That’s one scary motherfucker.”
“I see that.” And it feels like a piece of the puzzle has fallen into place.
Wilder begins to lead me across the room when he asks, “Are you hungry?”
And I say, “So hungry.” Because the only thing I ate today was half a tray of cinnamon rolls.
“You’re going to like this,” he promises.
He lowers his arm from my shoulder but takes my hand like Lydia did and laces our fingers together. Wilder nods his head and tips his chin, shaking hands with those who expect it from such a respectable businessman and gracious host. Their faces wear an expression that says,I’m special, because I know the Ridges.And after the older Ridge son pats their back or kisses their wife on the cheek, their expressions then ask,Did you see that? Did you see Wilder Ridge talk to me?
“Wilder,” one man says in salute.
“Mr. Ridge,” another man offers in passing.
“Let’s grab lunch next week.”
“We still need to have that drink.”
