Page 31 of Boardroom Mask

He’s also the only person alive I trust.

“My father happened,” I sigh at last. “Same as always.”

“Okay. And?”

“And what?”

“And whatever else is eating you alive right now. Because that—” He gestures at my face. “—is not just a Lukas face. That’s something else.”

“It’s not something else.”

“It’s a girl,” he decides.

“It’snota girl.”

“It’s definitely a girl.” Mat grins and picks his drink back up. “I’ve known you for almost eighteen years, Kir. I know what your daddy issues face looks like, and I know what your girl trouble face looks like, and right now, you’re wearing both at the same time.”

“Fuck off, man.”

Jillian is not agirl. I don’t know what she is yet, but I know what she isn’t, and she isn’t fucking that.Girlsdon’t make me flip marble coffee tables.Girlsdon’t make me beat a man until his face caves in because he had the audacity to sit across from her and eat green curry.Girlsdon’t make me stand in their showers with my hand around my cock, shaking, drooling, cumming so hard my vision blacks out.

Jillian Pierce is a goddamn catastrophe, and yet I keep walking toward her instead of away. Why is that? Good fucking question. I can’t even explain it, not to Mat, not to myself, not to anyone.

Right now, this problem lives in the dark, where I can pretend it’s manageable. The moment I drag it into the light and let someone else look at it, I lose the only control I have left.

“I’m not discussing a girl with you,” I add when he opens his mouth to keep prying. “So move the fuck on.”

“Fine. Grouchy today.” He waves a hand. “So, setting the not-a-girl aside, let’s discuss whatever Lukas has done to you lately.”

I look at him. “He?—”

Mat holds up both hands, palms out. “In broad strokes, though,” he interrupts. “Verybroad. I don’t want details. I never want details. You know this.”

“I know.”

“I’m your lawyer and your friend, in that specific order, when it comes to anything with your father’s fingerprints on it. So keep it vague and keep me clean.”

I nod. That’s always been the deal. Mat got out of the Bratva world for a reason. He doesn’t want back in, not even through me.

“He gave me a… a job,” I say carefully. “A person. Someone who’s becoming a problem for the family.”

Mat wrinkles his nose. His dark eyes go flat and careful, like storm shutters walling up the windows. Everything else stays loose—the posture, the easy grip on his glass—but the eyes give him away every time.

He’s a good-looking guy, Mat. Always has been. Strong nose, sharp cheekbones, artfully maintained black stubble. His hair is thick and black and pushed carelessly back off his forehead. He’s got a face that juries trust and women want to sit on, which is why he’s so goddamn effective in both arenas.

“And,” I conclude, “I haven’t done it.”

That makes Mat put his glass down. “Why not?”

I don’t answer.

“Kir. Why not?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Like hell it is! It’s the opposite of complicated. You get in, you get out. That’s it. That’s the whole thing. Kir, you know damn well that dawdling is when shit gets messy. It makes people start asking questions and forming connections, and then everything falls apart.” He jabs a warning finger at me. “Whatever’s holding you up—which, as we clearly stated, isnota girl—I suggest you figure it out fast. Your father doesn’t give extensions.”

“I know better than anyone what my father does and doesn’t give,” I mutter.