Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 77171 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77171 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
And she’s definitely not telling me everything.
I should probably turn away from her and never look back.
Instead, all I want to do is run toward her.
I think of her sitting across from me at dinner in that dark dress, of the soft flush on her cheeks after I called her on what she was looking for, of the way she looked at me outside the restaurant as if she wanted me to kiss her and hated herself for wanting it.
“Samson.”
“What?” I say, irritated at him for interrupting my thought.
“She isn’t a diversion,” he says. “That would be simpler. She’s a problem.”
“Why would she be a problem?”
He draws in a breath. “So you’ve made up your mind then.”
“I have.”
“So why the summons?”
“You told me to pay attention,” I say. “So I did. I wanted your read. Now I have it.”
“Do you?” he asks. “Are you ready to burn when you put your hand in the fire?”
I smile despite myself. “You’re always so dramatic.”
“Dramatic, maybe. Right? Always.” He turns and heads for the door.
I let him go three steps before I speak.
“Keep looking into her.”
Nate pauses with his hand on the knob but doesn’t look back. “I already planned to.”
“Good.”
He opens the door. “And Sam?”
“Yes.”
“When this goes bad, don’t insult me by pretending you didn’t see it coming.” He closes the door as he leaves.
I stand alone in the office and reach for my glass again. The bourbon has mellowed a bit. I walk to the window overlooking the club floor.
It’s all so predictable.
Delaney is not.
I pull out my phone and look at the thread between us. My last message sits there, unread.
Next time you come to me.
A command, yes.
An invitation too.
I lock the screen and slip the phone away.
She came to dinner with purpose. She thought she was being careful. She was. Careful enough to interest me. Careful enough to make me wonder who taught her to move toward danger without flinching.
I rest my hand on the cool glass of the window, the ring heavy against my skin, and think of Delaney’s mouth, Delaney’s pulse, Delaney’s gaze holding mine as if she wanted something from me, as if she hated herself for wanting.
Nate is right about one thing.
She isn’t random.
Neither is what I’m feeling.
And I have no intention of letting it end at dinner.
8
DELANEY
Next time you come to me.
I can still see the words long after the screen goes dark.
I don’t delete them.
I don’t respond.
I let them linger like a challenge.
He didn’t ask to see me again. He didn’t suggest it. He simply told me what the next move was.
I should ignore it.
That would be the smart thing to do. Continue with what I started—the quiet questions, careful conversations, the people who don’t look at me like they already know I’m hiding something.
People who don’t make my pulse leap with a single touch.
The next day I move through the motions of my morning. Coffee. Toast I don’t finish. Notes spread across the table in neat stacks.
The bartender’s voice loops back through my head.
It happened too fast… It was already going to happen…
I tap my pen once against the page.
It seemed planned, I write. Or at least inevitable.
The Vexley name is written in the margin of my notes, underlined twice. It’s appeared enough times now that I can’t pretend it’s coincidence. Business dealings. Property ties. Quiet mentions from people who don’t like to speak too loudly about certain families.
I glance back at my phone.
Next time you come to me.
I breathe in slowly.
No.
I’m not waiting for him. He challenged me not to, anyway.
If I want answers, I’m not going to get them sitting in my kitchen, circling the same half-formed theories.
And I’m not going to get them by letting Samson Vexley decide when—and if—I’m allowed back into his orbit. He made it clear that the next move is mine.
I grab my purse and walk to the lot a block away where my car is. Owning a car in New York City is expensive, which is one of the reasons my apartment is so small. Another reason is that all the apartments in New York are small unless you can afford ten grand or more a month. I’ve found it useful to have a car when I need to drive upstate for research and interviews.
And today I want to be able to arrive and leave when I want.
The drive out of the city is pleasant. Driving is always pleasant once you’re out of the city proper. The address isn’t difficult to find. Men like Samson Vexley don’t need to hide where they live. They know they’re outside your reach already.
The gates are black iron. I tighten my grip on the steering wheel as I slow the car. A pattern woven into the design of the gate becomes clear.
A key. One of those old-fashioned skeleton keys that’s long and narrow with uneven teeth.