Page 120 of Nothing More

Might as well hear him out…right?

Misha pulled a cheap, prepaid cellphone from a desk drawer and slid it across. “I have a matching one,” he said, and withdrew a second. “There’s only one number programmed into each, and they’re untraceable. I can’t promise to keep you safe from my men for any length of time, nor can I promise that we won’t seek retaliation against your club. But I’ve bought you two weeks’ time. I’ll investigate, you’ll investigate, and together we can find and eliminate the threat the Butcher’s son poses to us both.” He waited, then, expectant.

Toly said, “And if I don’t agree to that?”

A shrug. “I can buy you safe transport back to the building where you were picked up. Nothing more.”

The fact that he debated for even a moment sealed his fate.

Twenty-Four

“I think that went well,” Raven said, then “thank you,” as a server placed a Greek salad down in front of her.

Meeting with Blaire and Milo over – and successful, in her estimation – the four of them (counting Greg) had decamped to the restaurant next door for lunch. She’d tried to shoo Tenny and Reese away with a pointed look, and had earned one in return over the rims of his smoky sunglasses:yeah right. So here they all were, Tenny sprawled across two chairs, sunk down low in his seat like he intended to go to sleep, or was working off last night’s bender. Greg kept glancing at him with a frown, so Raven tried to capture his attention as best she could, and left the fake Russians to keep an eye out for threats.

“Me, too,” Greg agreed, and looked grateful for a chance for conversation as he unrolled his silverware. “That was a good idea you had, bringing along, um…” Another glance Tenny’s direction.

Tenny bared his teeth in an unfriendly smile. “Yuri,” he supplied.

“The trick,” Raven said firmly, recapturing Greg’s attention. She kicked Tenny’s ankle beneath the table and earned a kick back in return. Little wanker. “To handling girls like Blaire is to figure out how best to impress them.”

“And you did.” Greg speared a tomato and waved it on the end of his fork. “How’d you manage that, anyway? Did you research her?”

She didn’t say that, thanks to Cassandra, she’d spent far too many hours watching Blaire’s stupid show, and instead said, “Not to be disparaging, but Blaire’s not the complicated sort. The only thing she finds more interesting than herself is someone even hotter and more exclusive. Hence, Yuri.”

Another glance, another frown. Damn it. He opened his mouth – clearly thought better of what he was about to say, and chewed his tomato. After, he said, “You were right. I’d say she wasveryinterested.”

Raven did pleased. May have even simpered a bit, just to draw him in. “When you work in my business long enough, you pick up a few things.”

“Obviously. Well done.”

“So.” She was stirring her salad rather than eating it, but stabbed an olive, finally. She could feel herself getting lightheaded thanks to her meager breakfast: a single toast point dipped in a bit of yolk. “That’s Blaire and Milo sorted. How do we proceed from here?”

“Well, she was the only contributor with any objections to your involvement, so it should be smooth sailing from here. I’ll call Donovan, and we’ll get your name printed in the silent auction catalogue. We’ll need your preferred headshot and a short, one-hundred-word bio for our advertisers. After that, all you need to do is find a dress and a date.” He smiled, all those straight, white teeth eager, his intentions clear.

Maybe it would have been better for her social standing in New York to bat her lashes, wait for his inevitable invitation, and then accept. He doubtless knew all the right people to help her not only grow her business, but work toward digging her hopeless family out of their current, post-Abacus predicament.

But she couldn’t quite stomach it. She was dreading the gala; no sense saddling herself with a civilian date and dreading it even more. She said, “I still need to decide on a dress, but I actually already have a date lined up.” Ian in his Jean-Jacque disguise, aloof, and posh, and French, a perfect shield and a way to advertise their new, joint brand.

Beside her, Tenny said, “Yeah. Me.”

Because he wasawful.

Raven fought hard to keep the shock from her face. Greg didn’t try at all, gaping openly at Tenny, who still sat slouched, arms folded, sunglasses pushed up onto his head and eyes half-lidded.

“You?” Greg said, rudely.

Tenny shrugged. “Why not me? I want to see this gala, and I have nothing else to do.”

“But…”

Raven recovered. “It’s a usual thing, taking a client to an event. I’m representing Yuri, yes, and that opens plenty of doors for him, but it never hurts to shake some hands and kiss some cheeks. I like for my models to put themselves out there in the community: prove that they’re delightful and rewarding to work with. Word of mouth garners more jobs than resumes and headshots.”

Greg continued to stare at Tenny, blank-faced. “Delightful,” he echoed, flatly.

Tenny pulled on his hair, arranged his gelled fringe. “You don’t think I’m delightful, Mr. Ingles?”

Reese coughed quietly, and Raven thought it was his way of saying “Ten” without actually speaking and betraying his lack of accent.