Page 55 of Cozen

The ring echoed.

Once, then twice.

Someone picked up on the third ring.

“Mathieu here,” the man said. “What can I do for you?”

“Put me through to Pearl Astor, please.”

The butler—Cozen only knew that because the man barked it at her when she called the last time—sighed. “Mrs. Astor is currently sleeping.”

“Wake her up. Tell her it’s the thief, and I have good news.”

“She does not want to be—”

“Wake her up.”

“Fine,” the man snapped.

She heard muttering, and the phone clacked as it was dropped on something hard. It took a few minutes, and she heard a click on the line before Pearl Astor’s voice filled the receiver.

“Cozen, you better have a good reason for waking me up, child,” Pearl said with a gravelly tone.

“You sound unwell.”

“I am fine.” Pearl’s voice—despite being low—was still sharp enough to cut glass. Cozen got the point; personal shit was not on the table, apparently. “Why did you call?”

“Contact was made. I am in. The job is in play. It won’t be long now before I’m closer.”

Pearl was quiet for a long while before she asked in a whisper, “How long until the end?”

“That, I can’t say.”

“Then do not call me again until you have an answer.”

Pearl hung up the phone.

Cozen downed the rest of her wine.

What else could she do?

Sargon was not the kind of man who might find himself pining over a woman—especially not if said woman was entirely off-limits to him in a big way. And really, he would not consider his current position to be pining.

More like obsessing.

Which was far worse.

He barely blinked, and two weeks had passed him by. Two weeks since he had Cozen Taylor alone, and gotten a taste of her. One taste was not nearly enough to satisfy him, and now he found himself like this.

Watching her.

Checking on her.

Wanting to be around her.

Because he was fucked like that.

He blamed her.