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“I didn’t ask.” He flashes a wicked smile and walks out of the room without another word.
Cocky jackass.
CHAPTER NINE
KINGSTON
“I have the equipment. When can we meet up?”
John thinks we should install a surveillance camera in my dad's corporate office because he's not getting anything useful from the bugs we placed in the home office. Since Monique, Davenport Boating's head receptionist, is freakishly vigilant, placing the camera falls on my shoulders since I'm one of the few people who can get past her desk without an invitation or appointment. I need to somehow get into Charles Callahan's office, too, but there never seems to be an opportunity. Ms. Williams lives in the Callahan house full time, and I swear the woman never leaves.
“I’ve got something going on tonight, but I can do it tomorrow. Same place?”
"That works," John answers. "One o'clock, okay?"
“Yep. See you then.”
I hang up the call and open my GPS tracker app. Ainsley's car is only about a mile away, so I head to the front of the main house. When my sister initially said she was spending the day with Jazz, I had assumed they'd lie low since Jazz is still recovering. What I hadn't counted on was the fact that they'd go to Ainsley's ballet studio. They're right around the corner now, so I tuck my phone into my pocket and wait for them to pull up.
I originally installed the tracker on their phones for safety purposes—okay, maybe a slightly different reason on Jazz’s—but I have to admit, it’s come in handy outside of that. Even if they’re perfectly safe, it eases my mind knowing where they’re at considering all the shady shit up in the air. I thought for sure Jazz would throw a fit when she found out I had installed it, but since the tracker had proven useful when Peyton cornered her in the bathroom, she’s logical enough to see its value. I rarely check it, but since I hadn’t heard from Jazz as expected, my paranoia got the best of me.
I hear the roar of the Huracan’s engine shortly before they pull into the driveway. Ainsley spots me before she makes it to the garage, so she rolls the car to a stop and shifts into park.
Rolling down her window, she says, "What are you doing?"
"Waiting for you." I bend low, so I can make eye contact with Jazz. "You were supposed to text when you were on your way."
“Why?” she sasses. “So you could clear your groupies out of the house?”
I give her a half-cocked smile. “Careful, babe. Your jealousy is showing.”
Jazz’s gorgeous brown eyes roll back. “I’d have to care to be jealous.”
Ainsley rubs her temples. “Oh my God, you two. Do you ever stop? You’d think finally screwing each other would get this out of your systems.” She turns her head toward Jazz, then to me. “Or maybe you need to screw again because that’s the only way you can tolerate each other.”
“I’m open to testing that theory. What do you say, Jazz?”
Jazz scoffs. "Uh, no, thanks."
I laugh. “Don’t pretend you didn’t love it when I—”
“Don’t say it!” Ainsley shouts.
I look down at my sister. “Not so fun being on the other end of it, is it?”
The impertinent little shit gives me the finger.
I round the car and try opening the passenger door, but it’s locked. “Unlock the door.”
Jazz flashes a toothy grin through the window as she mouths, “No.”
Ainsley throws her hands up and mutters something before hitting the button from the master control panel. The second the door is unlocked, I swing it open.
“Get out of the car, Jazz.”
Jazz turns toward my sister and grumbles, “Traitor.”
"Oh, for fuck's sake, Jazz, the whole reason you're here is to talk to him, so go talk to him.”
