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"I know it is. On paper, it’s mine. But I know he’s the only reason I am where I am."
Rubbing my chin, I muttered what I knew of the madam who ran Queens of Heart: "Manhattan’s Divorce Maker."
She snorted. "I’m so much more than that, honey. Your wife knows it too. She’s been pestering me for an interview for years. Been thinking about saying yes but knew your da wouldn't like it..."
Goddammit.
Of course, Savvie wanted an interview with her.
My wife could scent out trouble like a bloodhound.
I released a hissed breath but didn’t utter a word.
Grainne hummed. "You’re different than him, aren’t you?"
"Than who? My da? Yeah. I am."
"I can tell. You didn’t demand I don’t do the interview, didn’t tell me to stay away from your wife—"
"There’s little fucking point. She does what she wants." Fuck me for the dumbass I was that I loved her most annoying trait of all.
Another hum sounded in my ear. "I think we’ll get along well, Junior."
I wasn’t particularly interested in us getting along. "Aidan," I corrected.
"Your da was that to me for a long time."
"Don’t care. You want my ass down there, you’ll call me Aidan."
"Okay, Aidan."
"What’s the situation?"
"My security has him under control." Before I could ask what the fuck she wanted me to do if her men had the situation contained, she blurted out, "He’s very high."
"On what?"
"It’s that new shit on the streets—Red."
I hissed under my breath again. "Okay, I’ll be there as soon as I can."
"Good."
She hung up the phone, and I immediately dialed Brennan.
"We’re needed at Queens of Heart," I told him before he could ask me what the fuck I was doing ringing him at three AM.
"The strip club?"
"The strip club."
He sounded as awake as I did. "Okay, meet you there in forty-five."
I grunted, disconnected the call, then got to my feet and retreated to the bedroom.
Savvie was still sleeping.
How fucked up was it that that made me worry about her?
