Page 118 of Boardroom Mask

“Frankly, man, I don’t give a fuck why you came here. Not if it has anything to do with that subject.” I clear my throat. “What I want to know is, where do we stand on the board of directors?”

Mat’s posture morphs in a millisecond. He wears that lawyer mask well, this old friend of mine. Sometimes, I almost forgethe has the same violent blood in his veins that I do. “I’ve got five of nine locked,” he tells me. “You, obviously. Plus Lambert, Fernandez, Carillo, and McCormick.”

“That’s one short of a two-thirds majority.”

“I’m aware of that, thank you.” He taps his thumb against his coffee cup. “The remaining four are your father, Mays, Blanchard, and Solomon. Safe to say your father votes against the motion to make him look like an incompetent asshole. Mays is Lukas’s man down to the marrow—he’s a surefire no. Blanchard is a weather vane; she’ll vote with whoever she thinks is winning five minutes before the motion reaches the floor. Which leaves Solomon.”

“And where does Solomon stand?”

Mat grimaces. “Solomon is nervous. He doesn’t like the optics of a son deposing his father. Old-school loyalty bullshit, and he’s as old-school as they come. But he also doesn’t like what he’s been hearing about Astoria, and hereallydoesn’t like the idea of aNew York Timesinvestigation landing while his name is still on the letterhead. I’m working on him. But it’ll be close.”

“The vote is in two days,” I remind him. “There’s ‘close’ and then there’s ‘close.’”

“Do I look like I need that fucking explained to me?” he snarls. “For God’s sake, you selfish asshole, I’m doing this shit for you even though I swore I wanted nothing to do with it. Gratitude wouldn’t be so out of place.”

“Spare me the bitching,” I grunt. “You wouldn’t know what to do with a fucking ‘thank you’ anyway.”

He’s still grumbling, though. “Wouldn’t kill you to acknowledge the hard work, goddammit.”

Mat drains half his coffee in one pull, and when he sets the cup down, I notice his hand isn’t quite steady. That’s new. I don’t like it.

“I talked to Afon last night,” he says ominously.

That makes me sit up straight. Mat doesn’t speak to his uncle unless he absolutely has to. Not since the night he cut ties with the family business and struck out on his own. Which means whatever dragged him back to Afon’s orbit was bad enough to override every principle he’s spent the last decade constructing.

“On purpose?” I ask, still unsure.

“He called me.” Mat’s jaw tightens. “And before you say anything—yes, I know. I know what I said. I know what I said I wanted. But you need to hear this.”

I wait.

“Your father contracted someone to kill Jillian.”

“I know.”

Mat blinks. “Youknow?”

“Afon told me. Last week, after the thing in Brooklyn.”

“Then why the fuck are you sitting here instead of—” He stops himself, pinches the bridge of his nose, and recalibrates. “Kir, man, listen to me very fucking carefully. This isn’t a threat anymore. This shit is literally in motion. Lukas has moved past the part where he trusts you to handle it. Someone else has the contract. The window where you could’ve gotten in front of this?—”

“Is closed,” I finish.

“Firmly,” Mat reiterates. “Which means you are operating on borrowed time that just got a whole lot shorter.”

A sickening feeling is starting to inch up my throat. “How much shorter?”

“I don’t know the full scope of details,” he warns with a spread of his hands. “I just know that, as of midnight last night, the kill contract had been published, and Lukas’s new guy is out on the prowl.”

Fuck.

That’s all I need to hear. I’m leaping off the couch, scooping my keys off the foyer table and shrugging into my jacket. Mat moves fast for a lawyer. He’s between me and the door before I’ve reached it. “Don’t do what I think you’re about to do,” he advises.

“Move,” I grunt.

“Kir, if you put yourself in the line of fire, this killer can and will shoot right fucking through you to get to her. Don’t be a goddamn?—”

I grab his shoulder, twist, and judo flip him neatly and efficiently onto his back on the floor. He lands with a groan and a wheeze. Once upon a time, he never would’ve let me manhandle him so easy, but life as a lawyer is making him a little slow and a little soft.