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Not fucking likely.
"Without telling him that your girl is his stalker?" King clarified.
"She's not my girl."
"She sure looked like your girl. Saw you two hugging like you were going off to war," he added, smirk toying up.
I guess from far away it would have looked innocent enough. No one but me could have known we weren't embracing. Oh, no. I was trying to hold her together.
I was probably the worst man for the job. Literally any of the other guys inside the Mallick home, including the goddamn teenagers, would have likely done a better job.
But I was there, and she clung to me as her body jolted almost violently with silent sobs.
Over what? I had no idea. But whatever it was, it was a lot, intense, something that she felt down to her core.
Grief like that was secondhand traumatizing. I couldn't get it out of my head. I couldn't help but want to know the origins of it. Even if I had no right to wonder.
"Look, if you still don't see her the rest of this week, I don't think she's going back. Tell the client you thought you saw someone, but after you hung around a while longer, they didn't come back."
"You want me to lie to a client."
That wasn't like Kingston. His business was too important to him.
"Listen, I liked Reagan. I don't think she's dangerous. Maybe she was misguided. Maybe you got through to her. She took some time, reconsidered it, decided to move on. And, well, the client is a dick. Give him the half-truth. Offer him a discount."
"A discount?" I asked. We didn't offer discounts. The people who paid us were the last people who needed discounts.
"Just for the first couple nights. Back when you were truly on the job. Tell him you stayed on just to make sure, but we aren't going to charge him for that time. That should ease your guilt."
"I don't feel fucking guilty. I just don't want shit to blow back onto you."
"Look, he can't prove that you lied. It is a morally gray area, but we haven't exactly been Boy Scouts. It's fine. Wrap it up. Move onto something else."
With that, he moved to stand, going back toward the door, then turning back.
"For what it's worth," he started, giving me a long look, if you can't get her out of your head, I think that says something. That's not like you. Stop being a pansy-ass and do something about it."
"How long did it take you to seal the deal with Savea?" I asked, giving him a brow raise. "And it only happened because she needed your help."
"You're a dick." There was no malice in the words. There rarely was when it came to King. "I'm just saying, if she likes your asshole self, that is something worth pursuing. I mean, who else is gonna want you?" he added with a big smile as he walked away.
"Fuck," I sighed, rolling my neck, made sore from a night of tossing and turning.
It had been a long week. And I still had Sunday dinner and all those questions to look forward to.
I rose from my desk, making my way out into the office, going toward the coffee station, filling my mug.
It wasn't until I raised it toward my lips, seeing the Devil Tears' logo looking back at me, that I got an idea.
Was it smart?
Probably not.
Could it backfire?
Almost definitely.
But I couldn't seem to talk any sense into myself as I walked out of the office, got into my car, drove across town, parked on the ridiculous pavers, made my way through the basement, trudged up the steps.
"There he is! Our savior!" Krissy declared, beaming at me as I moved into the office.
"Hey Krissy. How have you been?"
"Oh, you know me. Working hard. Breaking hearts."
"Sounds about right. Kids," I greeted, nodding my chin to Marley and Calvin, who were both chuckling over something inside a file folder, all the malice from my last visit seemingly gone.
"Are you here to look at the headshots?" Marley asked, yanking the file from Calvin's hand, moving over toward me.
"Harvey's headshots," Krissy clarified. "You know... your idea."
Right.
The idea we were supposedly discussing over dinner last Sunday. The idea she had actually started to run with. It was stupid, but I felt a swelling of pride at the realization. One of my ideas was worth something.
"Yeah, I think I'm going to need to see those," I agreed when I eyed a pissed-off Harvey looking over at me.
Inside the file were assorted staged pictures of Harvey and the bottles of whiskey. He looked miserable in every single one of them.
"They're perfect, right?" Marley asked, eyes bright, excited, clearly invested in the company even if she was there by force.
"I think they might just work," I agreed, shutting the folder, handing it back.
