Page 37 of The Refusal

I’m practically shouting, and, leaning forward, I catch the eye of the man at the next table. The big guy in the corner raises his head. The hum of conversation disappears as a hush settles like a shock wave.

“Fabian,please…”

Jo’s hand comes out but I’m on my feet in seconds and her eyes widen, mouth dropping open as I jerk to my feet, adrenaline flooding my system. Several people are gawking at me openly now.

“Fabian, for the love of God, just listen to me. He was tortured about whether he should do this …”

This confirmation is enough to send me right off the edge. I’m not even listening as fear grows like a weed. The number of things Janus has done for me. I need to talk to him.

Right.

Fucking.

Now.

The clatter of my chair hitting the floor follows me as I shoot out the door, and my arm is out for a taxi before I even reach the edge of the sidewalk. A panicked shout behind me sounds miles away.

Go, go, go.

As a yellow cab pulls in, I catch her voice, closer now, but I’m in the back and shouting directions before she even reaches me.Thank God.The detail of what Janus asked her to do I’ll only be able to listen to when I’m calmer, when I’ve made this right. A hand slaps on the window as we pull out from the roadside into the thick traffic.

I fidget with my ring and my phone as the driver watches me in the rearview mirror, frowning as I’m muttering to myself and bouncing around on his back seat, leaning out of the cab to shout at some old guy stuck on the crosswalk. There’s nothing good in this, nothing at all. Finally, the steel-and-glass tower that houses Janus Industries looms down the street, and in a flash I’m out of the door, flinging a twenty-dollar bill at the cab driver before racing past surprised pedestrians and barreling into the reception.

“Janus Phillips, rightfuckingnow.”

The receptionist’s eyebrows twitch, and she examines me warily before consulting her screen. Jesus. I don’t have time for this. My name comes at me from behind, and I spin to see Jo coming through the doors, wool coat flapping. Dammit, shefollowedme? I turn back to the receptionist.

“Janus isn’t here today, sir.” Her face doesn’t shift, even though I must be snarling and red-faced. The rational part of me distantly registers how professional she is.

“Like fuck he isn’t. I need to see him,now,” I growl, leaning over the counter toward her, and out of the corner of my eye I see the security guard start to move forward.

“Fabian.” Jo’s breathless voice is close beside me. When I turn, her white face is right there. “He’s away in Israel right now; he’ll be back tomorrow.” She pulls on my elbow. “Come and talk to me.”

I groan and pull my arm away from her calming hand, slamming my hands down on the polished marble desk.

“Fuck!”

“He didn’t mean to—”

My head snaps back. “I’ve screwed up the only real friendship I’ve ever had.” The words are wrenched from somewhere deep inside me.

“What? No!” Her shocked voice washes over my distress.

I lean forward, putting my head on the cool marble of reception, rocking from side to side. “He’ll never forgive me.”

“What?” Her voice is hesitant, surprised. “Why would you think … What have you done?”

23

Jo

The chase has started a fast flutter in my heart, breath sawing in and out. It feels like …Tamp it down, Jo. Dealing with Fabian is like trying to quiet an enraged and slightly unstable tiger. Trickles of sweat make their way down my neck, and I’m hot with the thought that I might have damaged his friendship with Janus. Worries chase themselves through my head one after another.Ishe the one hacking into Janus’s systems?What is he doing?

He starts pacing agitatedly up and down in front of the desk, and I scan his pale face and red eyes, the tremors running through his body. Grabbing his arm, I smile my apology at the receptionist and the security guard who’s hovering with his hand on his belt like he wants to taser us. I drag Fabian out through the revolving doors. Coffee: we need strong, black,goodcoffee. What’s open this early?Financier Patisserie. I pull him around the corner to the small bakery tucked in a backstreet, breathing a sigh of relief as I push him into a wicker chair reminiscent of a Parisian café. He groans and I stop, looking at his chalky white face, ghostlike. But then I shake my head and move to the counter, staring at the waxed moustache of the guy in his black apron as I order, gaze switching between Fabian, the blackboard, and the card in my hand, pulling in breath after breath. Fabian’s sitting with his head in his hands when I shuffle back to our table with two espressos.

“You have to help me sort this, Jo.”

Okay. That’s not what I was expecting him to say. On the surface, he looks much calmer, but how well do I know him? I take a deep inhale of air. I thought he’d be evasive or mad, but instead he seems worried that Janus will be annoyed with him. I don’t get it, unless he’s been trying to destroy Janus’s business for some reason.Would he go that far?

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