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“And it’s accurate, isn’t it?”
“Adrian, we’re pals. That means I’m going to level with you here. I’ve been a little distracted. My downstairs neighbor happens to work for Mrs. Glass. They kind of set me up in her office and the two of us are kinda spiraling down a beautiful tunnel of love together. You know that borderline terrifying scene in Willy Wonka where they go through the tunnel on the boat? It’s like that, but romantic instead of horrifying for children. It’s really wonderful, and I’m sure you’re happy for—”
“You’ve got to be shitting me. Travis, all our asses are on the line here. Forget this woman and do the job you went there to do.”
“I can’t forget this woman. She’s—”
“Would you rather finish this, or spend your time in jail thinking about all the guys she’s fucking while you’re locked up?”
“Harsh,” I said.
“It’s the truth. If you don’t do this, we’re very likely going to jail. I have a wife and a child, Travis. I’m not going to jail. Either you need to figure this out, or I’ll send Jordan to get it done.”
“You mean rolling on my ass and letting your sister handle this was an option the whole time? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“We don’t know when Glass is going to push this to trial. If I send Jordan, she may not have enough time to get assimilated and figure out what Glass has on us. Besides, I’ve already got her and Noah working on this from other angles. Sending her in to clean up your mess means we’ll be less prepared to handle this.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll do my best. But you know just getting information probably isn’t going to cut it, right? What if I find out she has everything on us? How is that going to help?”
“I sent you because I know you’re capable of figuring out a way to resolve this. You’re the most obnoxiously persuasive bastard I’ve ever met. That is why I sent you. So use those connections of yours to do some persuading.”
I rubbed the back of my neck. Mrs. Glass did seem to like me. Maybe I could just ask her nicely not to prosecute me and my friends for illegally sabotaging her husband's business and dozens like it. “I’ll do what I can.”
“Good. I’m going to start checking in every night. It seems like you need to be reminded of what's at stake.”
“I’ve always wished you would give me nightly calls, Adrian. How’d you—”
And he hung up.
I blew out a breath. This shit had been looming over me for weeks now. I’d planned to make a move eventually, but Adrian was probably right. I couldn’t wait forever, even if I desperately wanted to make sure Elizabeth and I were on firm footing before I risked rocking the boat in any way.
I went back into the studio and found her with a cup of coffee and her arms crossed. She was watching as an intern tossed crunchy leaves in the air and a model spun, smiling and holding her dress out. Two photographers moved around the scene, snapping hundreds of pictures.
I tapped my chin in thought. After my conversation with Adrian, I felt guilty as hell. I’d been keeping this from her, and I may not have been an expert on long-term relationships, but I knew one thing: secrets were a bad idea.
Unless they were secrets intended to help your friends? Maybe? Hmm. Yeah. When the time was right, all I’d need to do was explain to Elizabeth how I couldn’t tell her yet because I needed to make sure my friends were covered. She’d understand. Women always understood stuff like that.
For some reason, there was a rumble of doubt from deep within my soul about the plan, but I shook it off. I’d figure it out.
I came up from behind her and gave her ass a discreet little squeeze. She whipped around with wide eyes, then rolled them and shook her head when she saw it was me. “Ever hear of professionalism?”
“Heard of it. Not a fan.”
“Shocking. What do you think of this? Does it seem too… print you’d see hanging on the wall at Target?”
I watched the model spinning and the intern tossing leaves. “A little. I think the Glass Design brand is a little more edgy. Have her bite one of the leaves and glare at the camera.”
The model overheard and stopped spinning. She looked at me from atop her long, slender neck and from above her ridiculously prominent cheekbones. “Bite a leaf?” She had a French accent. Of course she did.
I shrugged. “Will you try it?”
She considered, then returned my shrug. “Which color?”
I rifled through the pile and handed her a bright red one. The photographer got her in a reclined position among the fallen leaves, told her how to prop her arm, then had her bite down. The cameras clicked in a frenzy as they got every angle of it.
