The Beast (Black Dagger Brotherhood #14) - J. R. Ward Page 0,90
for the pleasure of your social company.”
“Unlike yourself, I do not need to sing for my supper, I can buy it myself.”
Naasha spoke up, her voice filling the parlor. “Shall we adjourn for our meal?”
As the butler eased open a pair of double doors to reveal a dining table as resplendent as any set by royalty, human or otherwise, Naasha linked her arm into Assail’s.
In a whisper, she said, “We shall be having dessert down below. In my playroom.”
Ordinarily, he would have been unimpressed by such a blatant, I’m-a-naughty-girl come-on and would have commented appropriately. But he had other priorities.
Had Throe defected from the Bastards? Was he infiltrating the glymera through an available opening—or three—with an eye toward engineering ambitions against the crown?
Assail was most certainly going to find out.
“I look forward to whatever will be served,” he murmured, patting her hand.
Even if the sweets to be consumed were, temporarily, him and his cousins.
After all, orgasms were as good a currency as any … and he was quite certain that Naasha and her “dearest friends” were free for the purchasing in that regard.
TWENTY-NINE
“Thank you so much for coming. I was, ah, hoping that we could talk about…”
As Jo Early ran lines to herself, she stirred a packet of Sugar In The Raw into her cappuccino, messing up the pretty brown-and-white heart design that had been made in the foam.
The I’ve Bean Waitin’ coffee shop was Caldwell’s indie version of Starbucks, a tall-ceilinged, narrow-walled shotgun space with padded chairs and sofas, lots of mismatched little tables, and baristas who were allowed to wear their own clothes under their black smocks. It was one strip mall over from where the real estate office was, a quick trip to make at the end of yet another too-late workday for her too-hot, too-distracted boss.
He’d been in a dark gray suit today. With a bright white shirt and a blue-gray-and-black bow tie that, on him, was about as far away from geek as his Gucci shoes were.
Taking a sip from the rim of the fat white bowl-cup, she gave her little speech another shot. “Thanks for meeting me. I know this sounds odd, but—”
“Jo?”
Jumping, she nearly dumped her ’cino all over herself. The man standing by her table was six feet tall, with shaggy black hair, black-rimmed glasses, and the kind of skinny-jeaned, tight button-down’d, floppy-jacketed, earth-toned hipster clothes she’d expect to see on somebody ten years younger. But on William Elliot, it all worked.
Shaking herself, she said, “Hi, yes, hello, Mr. Elliot—”
“Call me Bill.” He glanced over at the coffee bar. “Let me get a latte, two secs?”
“Sure. Please. Ah, thanks. I mean, that’s great. Good luck.” Shit. “I’m sorry.”
Bill frowned and eased himself down, unwrapping an army-green scarf from his neck, and opening that maroon felt coat. “Is there something wrong with my house or something?”
“Oh, no.” She pushed her hair back. “And I didn’t mean to bring you here under false pretenses.”
Except she kinda had.
“Look, I’m a happily married man—”
Jo put both hands out. “No, God no—this is, this is actually about an article you wrote almost a year ago in December? About Julio Martinez? He was arrested back then downtown as part of a street fight?”
Bill’s eyebrows popped up over his glasses. “The gang member.”
“That’s right, the one who was injured and apprehended in that abandoned restaurant.”
As the reporter fell silent, Jo wanted to kick herself in the ass. She should have known better than to get involved in any of Dougie’s foolishness—even more to the point, she should have avoided getting anyone else sucked into the funhouse.
“You know what?” she said. “I was way out of line. I shouldn’t have asked you to—”
“What exactly do you want to know about the article?”
As she met Bill’s narrowed eyes, everyone and everything else in the café disappeared; the sounds of hissing steam and brewing coffee, the chatter, the comings and goings, all of it went on the dim. And not because the two of them were sharing a romantic moment.
“Are you aware of the YouTube video Julio’s been in?” Jo asked. “And what he said?”
Bill looked away. “You know, I think I will get that latte.”
The reporter got up and went to the counter. When he was addressed by name, and a, “Would you like the usual?” she wondered whether it was true that all writers were powered by caffeine.
And it was weird, this place wasn’t near his work or his new house. Maybe he’d lived in the area before?