Page 121 of Wicked Little Lies

They look at each other and panic beats.

“What?” I ask.

“There’s an emergency Quinate meeting,” Hendrick says. “Day after tomorrow.”

TWENTY

HENDRICK

Ipace the floor in the apartment, waiting for Jac so we can continue our conversation, or our verbal punching match or whatever the fuck you want to call it.

Something isn’t sitting right.

Right now, I can’t think about the hot sex, or how Jac handled himself surprisingly well in all that. The seriousness of our situation has come crashing down on the little piece of heaven we’ve carved out. It’s back to business for us.

“Fuck,” I mutter, shoving my hand through my hair. It’s too early in the morning for booze, and I want an absolutely clear head for what’s to come.

The sex last night was intoxicating enough.

“Jesus. How long does it take to make coffee?” I need something to do.

Going to the study, I sit at the desk and open the computer, mindful of the fact it’s not secure. My work computer is at my office at the mansion, with my personal one at my real home.

I check my safe email account, the one where it doesn’t matter if someone gets into. Any one of importance uses codedmessages, but there’s nothing apart from above board work crap.

“Are you…working?”

I don’t bother looking at the asshole. “Some of us do that, Jac. Not everyone calls fucking every breathing woman a job.”

“Mostly because those people don’t look like me.”

I laugh because even though I hate Jac, loathe Jac, he’s funny. “I’ll let Cat know.”

“Oh, she knows.”

I raise my eyes, and he’s holding a coffee, two of them. He comes up and puts one down.

“Thanks for the coffee.” I raise the mug. “Still not fucking you, Jac, but the sentiment is appreciated.”

“You wish.” He pauses and throws himself in the chair opposite. “You look annoyed.”

“These fuckers send Cat that message that’s a taunt, and they let the clock tick.”

He looks at me over his cup. “So, they’re burning up the time. I’m still saying it’s Kincaid.”

“You say a lot of things.” I’m just half listening.

Because the Kincaid thing is looking more and more likely. But it doesn’t feel right. Unless of course Kincaid’s mad I put a stop to getting a foothold. So did Jac, so did Maximo, Ivan, and Declan.

He’s got to know nothing will buy him into the Quinate. We don’t have any more fucking seats.

“Why the jewels?” I ask, circling back to that, like Jac’s suddenly got the answer.

“Why not?”

I try another angle. “Why do you want the Heart of Dark Desires?”

“It’s mine.” He takes a sip of his cream-filled coffee.

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