Empire of Lies - Whitney G. Page 0,33
the runners deliver your dry cleaning to your SoHo condo. You know, the place where you were supposed to be to discuss business tonight. As for me, I’m parked in front of the closest Sweet Seasons Café. Come see me whenever you start thinking with your brain instead of your cock.
I reach into my coat, feeling around for my car keys, but they’re not there.
Shit.
Walking over to the front desk, I show my ID and request a duplicate room key for the penthouse suite. I take the elevator up to the room once more, and the moment I step inside, I see Meredith fast asleep on the couch.
Completely naked, she’s sprawled across the cushions, hanging off the edge. Her face is in danger of hitting the glass coffee table is she moves another inch.
My keys are on the minibar, right within reach.
Grab the keys and fucking leave … If she hurts herself, so be it.
Without thinking, I walk over to her and slip my hands under her thighs—lifting her up and carrying her into the bedroom. I grab a silk robe from the closet and slowly help her into it before tucking her under the covers.
As I turn to walk away, she grabs my arm and her eyes flutter open.
“Yes, Meredith?”
“I really like you already…”
I don’t respond to that. I gently push her hand away, and wait a few seconds before she falls asleep again.
Grabbing my keys, I get the hell out of the hotel and suck in as much fresh air as I can when I get to the street. I make my way down the block to the closest Sweet Seasons Café until I reach my brother’s car. I look over my shoulder before opening the passenger’s side door and shutting myself inside.
“For the record,” Trevor says, the moment I lean back in the seat, “I think you’re getting sloppy.”
“In that case, I think you’ve gained twenty pounds in two weeks.”
“It’s part my next assignment.” He laughs. “Middle aged man in less-than perfect shape. I need to gain weight to play the part. Otherwise, there’s no way any of the suburban moms will believe I’m a widowed father. I look too good as the regular me, you know?”
I want to laugh, but he’s pissed me off already.
“I’m not getting sloppy,” I say. “I’m being thorough.”
“By going on a goddamn date with the girl?” He scoffs. “Is fucking her a part of this particular job? I seem to have missed that part in my notes.”
“I didn’t fuck her.” I lied.
“You mean yet?” he asks, but I don’t answer.
“I mean, I’ve seen you insert yourself in people’s lives before, but not in a way where they can actually remember your face. Don’t you think that’ll be a big problem months from now when she’s supposed to go missing?”
“I was just making sure that she got home safe.”
“And her home is in the Four Seasons? In the penthouse suite?”
“It is tonight.”
“Right.” He rolls his eyes. “I told you that you didn’t need to do this job. I could’ve had someone else do it. Hell, I could’ve done it.”
“You’re a glorified bookkeeper. I’m the best at this for a reason.”
“Even champions can have an off-year.” He lights a Cuban cigar. “Anyway, the clients want to know how much you’ll charge to change this to a C-23 job.”
“I’m not interested in anything extra for this,” I say. “Your guys said they wanted her missing in six months and safely returned in thirty days after a media blitz. That’s all they’re getting from me.”
“Well, they’ve had a change of heart.” He pulls out an envelope. “They’re also offering a significant change in fees, too.”
“Please tell me you’re not walking around the streets of this city with a fucking envelope of hit-money.”
“I know better than that.” He rolls his eyes. “It’s the bank codes and the pending amounts. To be paid out the moment she’s gone and you can confirm she’ll never return, and her body will never be found.”
Curious, I take the envelope from his hands and open it. Everything I need to know is printed in black, pure facts and numbers. Switzerland Holdings Bank. The most I’ve ever been paid for any single job, more than the last five combined.
I tap my fingers against the paper, wanting to weigh the pros and cons of giving these people what they want, but it feels different this time. Wrong.
Granted, I’ve never been a fan of any person who grew up with a silver spoon in