The King - S.R. Jones Page 0,37

go out of the offices and see the life of a community. I wouldn’t get that here in the financial district. It’s ironic, no? This office, which is full of people who probably live in places like Camden, like you, but work here, and then me, who lives in a boring, soulless house, but have amazing offices. It’s like you work here then go home to life, and I work amongst life and go home to nothing.”

“Not nothing,” I say. “You have your son.”

“Yes.” He smiles. “I have my son. And for all the trouble he causes I wouldn’t be without him.”

“I should hope not,” I say.

“So, Cassie, this is some information to get you started.”

He slides open a drawer by my leg, and I’m achingly aware of his big hand so close to my thigh, except my thigh isn’t sexily bare like it would be in a movie; no, it is clad in distinctly unsexy loose, black pants, with running shoes on my feet.

I considered wearing my black skirt again, but then figured what’s the point. Konstantin doesn’t want me in that way, and why keep on acting desperate. I’m just myself, plain old me, in loose pants, a white t-shirt, and running shoes. I did put on some mascara this morning and a touch of lip gloss, plus a bit of bronzer, so maybe I do care … a little.

The file Konstantin takes out of the drawer is thick. He opens it to the first page, and there is a picture of a man so awfully ugly, and in that hard, vicious way you just know he oozes violence from every pore that it makes me shudder.

“Wow, who is he? He has a face only a mother could love.”

“He’s the man you’re investigating, and he’s as dangerous as he looks. You sure you can get into his stuff without a trace? I don’t want you putting yourself at risk.”

Oh, crap. I stare at the picture, at those small, vicious eyes, and realize I may have bitten off way more than I can chew.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Konstantin

Cassie stares at Popov’s picture, and I begin to feel uneasy.

“Cassie, are you sure you can do this without leaving a trace?”

“Yes, of course.”

She doesn’t sound sure.

Fuck. I want her to do this, but I don’t want her at risk. Maybe I should bite the bullet and either hire someone—money can, after all, buy loyalty if one pays enough—or ask Andrius to get his hacker friend, Reece, to do it. I don’t want to go to my Greek acquaintance, Damen, a member of the cartel over there, not when things with the Greeks are up in the air.

“Listen, I can get someone else. There won’t be any reprisals from me if you don’t want to do this.”

“No, I can do it, honestly. I won’t leave a trace.”

I get a nagging feeling she’s not being truthful with me. But why would she lie? I’d been taken aback by her wanting more money too.

In fact, I thought she was asking for more to fuck with me, but now I’m not so sure. I’ve already run a credit check on her, and she’s as clean as a whistle. Her finances are in decent shape. She’s not rich, but she’s not in debt either. Now, though, I’m wondering if her keenness to take on this job is for some reason that I’m unaware of?

I lower my voice, not sure why I’m being such a bleeding heart, and say, “If you need money, I can help you out. You don’t have to do this, not if it isn’t safe.”

I was so determined to have her do this for me, even make her if need be, but now? Now, looking at her, small and fragile in the big leather chair, I know she’s one of the very few people who count amongst those I won’t put at risk. It’s an exclusively tiny group, and somehow Cassie has wormed her way into it.

“What? No… I mean, of course we all like money, and I’m glad you’re paying me a fair amount now, but no, there’s no issue, and I am more than confident my online nosiness won’t be discovered.”

She turns to me and smiles.

She might have darker hair, sallower skin, and less freckles, but her smile still lights up the damn room.

“Okay, so you’re good to go.” I push the file her way, ignoring the warning bells in my head. I need this, and I trust Cassie not to tell anyone what