Page 14 of Nothing More

Ian entered, the hulking, ever-present Bruce a pace behind him. He – Ian – wore all black, turtleneck, slacks, belt, shoes, beneath a Burberry scarf and coat. His hair gleamed the color of the season’s last leaves.

“Cassie, darling,” he said, “I wasn’t aware we were playing tag.”

Cassandra looked over with a dramatic huff and eye roll. “We weren’t, you’re just slow.”

Ian pressed fingertips to his heart. “You wound me.” He turned to Raven. “She’s vicious, your sister.”

“And growing more so by the day.”

“Hey!” Cassandra protested.

Raven motioned Ian to one of the plush, leather chairs across from her desk, and he folded himself gracefully into it. Bruce went to prepare tea.

A quick check proved that Miles had snared Cassandra’s attention again – they were looking at something on his laptop, offense forgotten – and lowered her voice to just above a whisper. “Any problems?”

“Not a one,” he said, easily. “Ah, thank you, Bruce.” Her small, white china teacup looked tiny in his long hands. “And here?”

She gave him a brief rundown of Donovan Smith’s visit, and his offer.

His mouth formed a moue of polite distaste. “I’ve met him.”

“As Jean-Jacque, Shaman, or yourself?” she asked, only half-teasing.

“Shaman. He was there to not-so-subtly feel out the new competition. I hadn’t the heart to tell him I’d been operating in the city for five years, now. Between the new offices, and my oh-so-youthful countenance” – he gestured to his own face and Cassandra snorted over on the chaise; Ian snapped his fingers and pointed at her without looking, though a smile threatened – “he thought he could give me the bluster routine and have me begging to do business with him.”

“I take it you set him straight.”

“Rather flamboyantly.” He grinned, flashing even, white teeth. “He didn’t want to shake my hand at the end.”

It felt good to chuckle. More than anyone, Ian could always soothe the worst of her anxiety. “What did you make of him?”

“He’s a prick. Typical new money tyrant who clawed his way up and wants a parade thrown in his honor.” His head tilted. “I don’t think he’s Abacus, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“He might be an Abacus rival,” she countered, though something inside her unclenched at his ready dismissal of a threat.

“He might be. Has Miles put in the security monitoring yet?”

“Yes.”

Ian nodded. “We’ll keep a sharp eye out, then.”

We. That was a comfort, too: the knowledge that she wasn’t alone in this. That a whole group of people, club and club-adjacent, was watching out for not just her, but all the women within the Lean Dog orbit. She’d begun using the collective as well, when she talked to those in her inner circle.Wewill,ourjob.

God knew what Toly thought of that.

God knew what he thought of anything.

“Will you be staying much longer?” Ian asked.

She opened her mouth to respond, and Toly said, “No.”

Firm, rough-edged, final. A single, unquestionable rejection. As if he had arightto answer for her. As if he got todecidethat she was done for the day.

Ian’s brows gave a mild twitch. “Oh? Is she not?”

“No,” she snapped. “Iam. I have at least two more hours.” She turned her head to direct her words at Toly, who regarded her with infuriating indifference. “I have to go over the new sketches with Simone, and Nicholas wants me to–”

A knock sounded at the door.