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“Listen to the construction god,” Grant snarked.
“What’s up your ass?” I retorted.
“You’re one to talk. Did you get a bad batch of Wheaties this morning?” Grant had turned into quite the joker after all these years. When I glared at him, he acted offended, adjusting his suit jacket. “Fine. No sense of humor. Bad clients who think they can use the club as their personal conference room.”
I knew what that entailed. The note on my desk indicated Judge Garber had requested a meeting. Like hell that was going to happen.
“Let’s not get off track. Just see what you can do to eradicate the situation, Jameson,” Lachlan suggested. “We don’t need any bad press while trying to get the Milan project off the ground. The authorities are dicey enough, the Cosa Nostra sniffing around.”
“How the hell would they know about the project unless the man interested in entering into business with us ignored his confidentiality agreement?” I barked.
Grant was pressing my last nerve, driving up his arms as if surrendering to my piss-poor mood.
Lachlan sighed. “That’s a good question that will be answered, but the situation with Dumas needs to be rectified.”
“Agreed. I’ll give you a status update when I’m in Paris.”
“I admit I’m curious. Are you going alone?” he threw in.
There was no reason for me to bristle as the three of us had tormented each other through the years regarding the choices in women we’d made. “Not you too.”
“Call it a hunch. Maybe that’s a way to defuse the situation. Take her with you.”
The way Lachlan was leaning into the camera, his eyes pointed on mine meant he wasn’t telling me everything about the problems I could face. “Maybe. I’ll need to see. Now, if there’s nothing else. I have a business to run.” I was already out of my seat, ready to stop the meeting before either one realized I’d moved.
Grant hitched both eyebrows, his previous look of amusement shifting into annoyance. “Sure, buddy.” He ended the call abruptly and Lachlan turned his full attention in my direction.
“Is there something else going on?”
I wanted to walk away without mentioning Pamela’s death, but a part of me needed to mention it to someone. “Pamela was killed in a boating accident.”
“What?” He looked at me quizzically. “You two were talking?”
“Oh, hell, no. I got a call from her brother.”
“Well, how nice of him since he was the one who threatened your life years ago.”
I’d all but forgotten about the ugly incident. It had been the single time I’d almost used my brawn to end a man’s life. It had put a final wedge between me and Pamela. “He just wanted me to know.”
Exhaling, he rubbed his jaw then offered the fatherly look that he’d grown accustomed to giving. “I won’t ask about this girl because I have a feeling at this point you’ll tell me it’s none of my business. But I’m going to give you my opinion whether you freaking want to hear it or not. Move on. I know you cared about Pamela, but your relationship was toxic.”
Anger immediately rose to the surface, but he was right. “I got it. It was just a shock from the past I didn’t need.”
“Go to Paris. Take this girl with you. Maybe what you found with her will turn out to be nothing. Maybe it’s something. But maybe the damn universe is telling you it’s time to let the past slide into hell.”
“You have such a way with words, buddy.”
“Aye,” he chided, his Scottish accent suddenly stronger than usual. “Just remember. Paris is the city of love.”
“Very funny. I’ll call you when I know something.” I ended the call, able to laugh. Then I rubbed my beard again. Maybe he was right.
Besides, I would enjoy taking her to a club in Paris.
My lovely submissive had no idea what she’d started.
* * *
Alexandra
