Page 47 of His Deadly Lies

I drag another sip down my suddenly parched throat and use the excuse of the phone call to avoid looking at Carter.

The old man.

Although he’s not really old, is he? Not much older than I am. There’s only about seventeen years difference between us, but the silver-white hair gives him an edge. It makes him the center of attention in whatever room he's in, especially when you get a look at his eyes. There are lines around them and a grizzled tone to his voice speaking of the things he’s seen and experienced.

The phone continues to ring with no answer.

At least he’s not old enough to avoid getting aroused when I taunt him. Which is good to know.

The thought jolts me out of my daydreams just as the call goes to voicemail, and I find Carter quiet and scanning the room. My martini really is well made, at least, with a hint of something citrusy at the tail end of each sip. Not bad for a newbie, and it helps steady something inside of me.

I down the rest of the drink and scan the area for the bartender but see no one.

I’m going to have to talk to my sister about his absence. The number one rule we always have to follow, no matter what aspect of the business we’re covering, is to remain well staffed at all times. Especially at the bar. Someone has to be here to take the money, even if it isn’t peak time or season.

“Call her again. Keep calling her until she picks up.” Carter’s attention turns hawkish, and I’m the mouse.

“If she can't be bothered to answer, then I refuse to call her repeatedly.” I laugh bitterly and run my tongue along the edge of the glass, wishing for more.

“Then what are you doing now?” he asks matter-of-factly.

“I didn’t realize I have to keep you apprised of my every movement. Maybe you should eat something. You’re getting grouchy.”

Carter ignores me as I grumble, shooting out a text to Lucia. The moment I press send, Stefan rounds the bar, and I lift my hand to get his attention.

“Darling,” I start, propping my chin on my hands to stare at him. It doesn’t escape me that Carter is giving him a death glare. “I know this is not usually your problem, but your new trainee is a mess. Makes a good martini but could use a few lessons about his people skills.” I keep our interaction flirty but firm, putting Stefan in his place with a loaded smile. The combination usually gets me the best results, like honey and vinegar mixed together.

“What newbie?” Stefan asks, confused.

The ire already winding through my blood like poison increases in the silence following his question. Everyone is losing their damn minds tonight. Alice, our newly deceased drivers, and now Stefan.

“Never mind,” I reply unemotionally.

“How much time do we have left?” I slide off the stool and straighten, lapping at the last bit of martini around the rim of the class.

“Fifteen minutes,” Carter answers.

“Then we’re going home.”

“What do you expect us to do for fifteen minutes?”

What a grump.

“I expect you to stand there sweating while I dance.” The night’s fallen, and the first bodies through the door have inevitably filled the open dance floor. “You do whatever it is you want with yourself. ” I lean in close to whisper against his ear with, “Go jerk off in the bathroom and think about me.”

I leave him growling as I twist my way toward the other people dancing, the music light and fun.

He grabs me before I have a chance to head out onto the floor. “You don’t need to be further away from me, lost in a mass of people. No dancing, Mia.” He grits his teeth around the words.

“I’ve been living my life just fine until you showed up. You were asked to keep an eye on me,” I reply. “Not be on top of me. Unless your boss doesn’t mind sharing.”

Rather than play this cat-and-mouse game, I wrench my arm out of his hand with my lips tilting up slightly.

There’s nothing wrong with letting loose in a safe place like this. Everyone expects me to keep it together, but no one realizes that so much stress and anger and energy without an outlet will cause damage. A martini or two, or three. Some dancing and sweating off the alcohol.

It’s enough.

With the music thrumming and other people around enjoying themselves, eyes closed and their partners close, a knot inside of me loosens. Carter watches me from the bar. Would it be so wrong to give in to whatever this thing is between us?

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