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I click on a link to review the material before the meeting.

Sales are down, which is as expected, given our internal shake-up.

But we can’t miss revenue projections. It’s too likely someone out there will spin it to say we took a hit when we blocked illegal sales.

Of course, that’s exactly what is happening, but I need to find solutions.

* * *

Not only do I miss lunch with Sophia, but I also miss dinner.

I am shit at managing my schedule. Cassandra hated me for that.

Work destroyed our marriage. My daughter needs me, and I’m letting work impede being there for her.

My eyes burn, and a dull headache throbs mercilessly.

My behavior is not acceptable. I should be a better father. I should be a better man.

Ryan flew down. I met him at the helicopter landing pad while Sophia ate dinner with Ava. I told him everything about my role with the CIA. I explained that I’m hoping they clear an undercover op, but if they don’t, I’ll continue working with Victor Morales, and I want Arrow to have my back.

Ryan agreed, but one question he asked plays on repeat. “How do you know you’re not being played?”

The troubling answer is, I don’t. But working with the CIA has honed my instincts. And my instincts tell me Morales trusts me. If I play along, I’ll learn a lot more about this scheme than Sophia’s abduction revealed.

Moving forward, we agree to a weekly meeting at a nearby gun range.

It’s late when I tap on Sophia’s bedroom door and peek my head in. She's asleep. Her golden hair spills over the pillow. With care, I step over and press my lips against her temple, just like I used to do when she was a toddler.

She stirs, rolling away from me, and I whisper, “Love you, sweetheart.”

The house is dark and quiet. I make my way to the basement bar, then to my evening chair.

Outside on the lower patio, I swirl the golden liquid in my glass.

There’s a quiet to the night I enjoy. A subtle whooshing sounds signaling the opening of the sliding door.

Without turning, I sense the woman behind me.

“Ava,” I say, then sip, letting the burn down the back of my throat bring me into the present. “Does it bother you when I drink?”

“No.”

“Then come join me. Sit here.” She chooses to stand near the chair, and damn if I don’t find her resistance appealing.

“Thank you for having dinner with Sophia.” An explanation for my absence from dinner is on the tip of my tongue, but I bite it back.

Cassandra would have demanded one, but I don’t owe Ava anything.

“She needs you, you know?”

“I’ll do better.” I hate the words as I say them. I never do better. I side-eye her. Her deep brown eyes look almost like dark pools out here at night. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Fisher updated me. Are you going to break ties with…” I can’t think of his name. His background report sits on my desk. “Your friend?”

She lets out a sigh and sinks into the seat beside me. “Would you give up on Sophia?”

She’s out of her mind. “Is this friend your son?”

“No. But he’s like family. We’ve been through a lot together.”

I consider that. There’s a short list of people I would do anything for. Sophia. My brother Liam. Uncle Mark. Cassandra made the list before a car collided with hers. My nephew doesn’t make the cut. He’s an idiot. Ryan, of course. He’s a business partner now. He helped me find my daughter.

“If his life was in danger, what would you do to save it?” That’s really the crux of the matter. That’s the security risk this questionable friendship of hers represents.

She’s silent. Her hands wrap around her stomach, below her breasts. She looks sad, and that’s not my goal.

“Would you lie? Steal?” The men who held Sophia, as far as I know, did it for straight cash. Like a job. But it’s conceivable they had someone in their lives they needed the money for. Or an addiction to feed.

“I would lie. And steal. But if you’re asking me if I would harm anyone else, the answer is no. I would never.” She sits up straighter. “But I wouldn’t steal from you.”

I hold up a hand while staring straight ahead into the darkness.

“You can steal anything. Just nothing of Sophia’s and no photographs.

” I don’t give a crap about anything in this house.

I bought it mostly furnished and had no part in my designer’s selections, with the exception of select rooms. “How much more money do you need?”

“You already paid me. Overpaid.”

“Are there any others like your friend?”

“Huh?”

“Anyone else you would do anything for? Who might need money in the future?”

She can’t save them all. But there’s no point in arguing with someone like her. If she’ll stick her neck out for a guy willing to bring her along to meet his drug dealer, she’ll stick her neck out for almost anyone.

“I’m okay for money.”

“What if I gave you your financial independence?”

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”

I temple my fingers as I rest my elbows on my thighs. “If you are financially stable, there are lower risks.” I have more money than I’ll ever need. More than Sophia will ever need. More than her children will ever need. “How much more do you need?”

“I don’t. I’m…you and your uncle have been extremely generous.

I don’t need more.” It’s the way she bites the corner of her lip and looks down to the corner of the seat cushion that I know she’s lying.

She needs more than what I gave her. Of that, I feel certain.

Probably for her ex. I’ve been respectfully calling him her friend.

But one call to my uncle, and I learned the truth.

“I don’t want you going to those group sessions anymore.” She needs to cut off contact with her so-called friend.

“I’ll find someone to fill in for me.” Her easy agreement surprises me.

I study her in the dim light. She has an underlying sexuality that intrigues me. But I don’t have the time or the inclination to woo her. And more than that, if I entered into a relationship with anyone, not just Ava, that would be one more person I would disappoint.

“Ava Amara.” Her arms mirror mine on the arm rests. “What if we arrived at an additional arrangement?” Her head angles slightly to the right, the only indication she heard me and is listening. “What if we expanded your services? And in return, I paid you enough to be financially sound?”

Those short black nails curl under her palm.

A sliver of guilt for the heartless proposal has me spinning my chair so I am no longer facing those doe-like eyes, and I speak to the shoreline.

“The arrangement would need to be private. Sophia could never know. Obviously. Only while you are here.” I tap my left fingers. “What’s your price, Ava Amara? One. Million. Dollars?”

I close my eyelids and wait. Does she get the Austin Powers spoof reference with the over pronunciation of “one million dollars?” A piddly amount of money for me, but it’s a life changer for someone like her.

She could scream at me. Slap me. But, based on what I understand about her past, I doubt I’m the first person to proposition her.

Will she say yes? Will she counter? Ask for ten million? If she says yes, will she crawl to me on her knees, pull out my dick and suck me off? My dick twitches, coming to life at the vision. That would be good. I’d like that.

I’ve had arrangements before. At a Houston club where Liam and I are members.

For a period of time, here in San Diego.

I’ve never been so blatantly transactional, but she works for me.

A payment ensures feelings do not enter the equation.

I can’t risk her becoming emotional near Sophia.

My last arrangement did become emotional.

I ended things shortly after Sophia moved into my house.

I wait for the answer. And wait. The secret to a good negotiation is to not appear too eager. To not rush the opponent. Let them mull it over. But she’s taking too damn long. So, I open my eyes and look at her chair. It’s empty.

She’s gone.