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“Oh, Evelyn . . .”
His thigh vibrated and he reached into his pocket for his phone. “Patras.”
“Lucian, it’s Shamus. How are you?”
“Hey, James. What’s up?”
“I wanted to let you know that I met with the broker about the property on Macintosh. He says it’s a go. You just need to have your attorney okay the paperwork and sign. Slade thinks it’s a good deal. His attorney went over it yesterday.”
“Where are you now?”
“I’m actually in your neck of the woods. Spent the night with a lovely woman by the name of Tammy.”
“Sounds charming.”
“Charming she certainly was not, but she could fuck like a sailor on leave so I’m not complaining. How’s your little piece?”
It wasn’t Jamie’s fault the way he referred to Evelyn. He’d have no clue Lucian saw her differently than the rest, especially not after he provided him with a cheap show a few days ago.
“She’s . . . she actually just left.”
“Left, like ran to grab a paper or . . .” He let the question hang.
“She’s gone.”
“You okay, Luche? You don’t sound too happy about that.”
“I’m . . . I don’t know. It’s for the best I suppose. It wouldn’t have worked out.”
“That’s a shame. She was a stunner. Those eyes . . . gave me something to think about for quite a few nights.”
“She isn’t like that, Jamie.” His jaw locked. He didn’t want Jamie thinking of her that way.
“All right. Settle down. Didn’t know.” He cleared his throat. “If she’s so special, how come you let her go?”
“Slade hated her.”
Jamie laughed. “Slade hates everyone at first. Lucian, please tell me you’re not basing your choices on Slade’s preferences. Monique’s gone. You need to let her go. The both of you do. Besides, I think you’re making a mistake if you find a keeper and decide to share her.”
“You didn’t think I was making a mistake when you were invited to watch.”
“Watching and touching are two totally different things and you know it. Listen, I’m pulling up to Calgary’s, then I’m coming over. You want me to grab anything before I get to the condo?”
“No, I’m good.”
“All right, I’ll see you in twenty.”
Chapter 27
Blockade
A strategic placement of minor pieces intended to provide shelter from an attack
Shadows crawled across the ceiling as the insidious ticking of the clock filled the room. It would soon be dawn and Lucian hadn’t slept a wink. It had been the same for the past four nights. All he could think about was Evelyn. Was she safe? Was she warm? Was she thinking about him?
He tried to recall the shelter. He’d been in a rage the night he found her, showing up with a sole purpose, to get her the hell out of there. There were more men than women. Every time he imagined her sleeping on that floor alongside other homeless residents, his gut twisted.
He must have slept for an hour or two. When he awoke at seven, it was to the sound of his cell vibrating quietly on the nightstand. Seeing it wasn’t anyone he wanted to talk to, he silenced it and went to shower.
By noon, Lucian was on his way out the door to a meeting at Finks off the main line. Midweek check-ins clogged the lobby entrance. Jerome held the large glass-plated door and Dugan, in perfect timing, opened the passenger door of the limo.
“Good morning, Mr. Patras,” the doorman greeted as he whisked by.
“Good morning, Jerome.”
Nodding to Dugan, as he outran the chill and slid into the back of the car, the door closed and he was again submerged in warmth. They were soon on their way.
Finks was an open little joint specializing in Italian cuisine leaning more toward lighter fare. Lucian spotted the woman he was looking for as soon as he arrived.
She was dressed in a style he considered understated money. Her clothing was finely made, but subtle, lacking any pompous flare or designer tags. She stood on her burgundy square-heeled shoes as he approached the table.
“Mr. Patras,” she greeted and smiled. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I admire what you’ve been doing with the old Poplar building.” Her handshake was completely asexual, not overcompensating; firm, but also lacking any feminine grace.
“Thank you for taking this meeting, Mrs. Morris.”
“Please, call me Paula.”
“Paula, then. And call me Lucian.”
The waiter deposited menus and they each ordered their beverages. Business lunches were a strategy meant to distract and relax guests, and he always made sure not to fall too far into the comforts of the surroundings. He quickly ordered a light grilled chicken salad and handed back his menu, not wanting to waste too much time on the superfluous rituals of social etiquette.
“Slade tells me you’re interested in St. Christopher’s,” Paula said before sipping from her sweet tea. “I must admit I’m a little surprised. I’ve watched your career at a distance and noticed you tend to stick to the more artistic charities. I’m flattered you’re considering involving yourself with our shelter.”
