Page 104 of Diego

There are some memories a man should probably not revisit while standing beside his brother.

Blair looks toward the elevator.

Her gaze finds Ricardo first.

Then me.

With immense satisfaction, I see the smallest interruption in her composure.

Anybody else would probably miss it. Her expression remains professional, her posture unchanged, but I see the slight pause before she resumes whatever she is saying to the inspector.

I smile.

She continues to ignore me.

Excellent.

She finishes her conversation before crossing toward us, and the closer she gets, the more difficult it becomes to pretend I am assessing anything about this property.

“Good morning, Mr. Conti.”

There it is again.

I put my hand out, giving her no choice but to shake it. “I've told you already, call me Diego.”

Her eyes drop to my hand for the briefest moment before she puts hers in it. “Diego, of course.”

I let my thumb brush once over the side of her hand before releasing it. “And this is my brother, Ricardo.”

“Blair Owens, yes?” He offers his hand. “I've heard great things about you.”

I see the flicker in her eyes, and I resist the urge to smile wider.

“Ah. I'm flattered,” she says.

I gesture around the penthouse. “How long have you been here?”

“About twenty minutes. Building management let us in early, and your inspection team arrived a few minutes after I did. They seem to be very thorough.”

“Good, that's what I want,” I say. “I want every corner, every nook and cranny, inspected.”

Blair looks at Ricardo. “Is he always like this?”

“Not usually, actually,” Ricardo says.

“I was displaced from my home with six hours’ notice,” I remind them. “I have earned the right to become obsessive.”

Ricardo nods. “He has mentioned that event approximately forty times.”

“Because it was traumatic.”

“You’ve been staying in an estate with your nephews. They have a pool.”

“And somehow I've survived.”

Blair’s mouth twitches.

I catch it.