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Wonder what the fuck Marshall’s talking about. I flip through the dossier. I don’t like what I find.
Page after page of photographs of Max Kleeberger. Out on the street. At parties. At clubs. And who’s on his arm in three-fourths of them?
My Becky.
It’s amazing how quick the jealousy rises up in me.
Could it really be possible that Becky is fucking Max? I mean, banging Darian is one thing. I can even get on board, at least a little, with him being a part of my fucking her. But there is no way in hell I’m letting a goddamn sleeve like Max share that pussy.
“You alright?” Marshall asks.
I look up and see the concern in his face. It’s mixed with something else. There’s a penetrating aspect to his look. Like he’s seeing right through me. I need to get out of the glare of the spotlight of his eyes.
“This is great work, as always, Marshall.”
“Thanks.”
“I’ll take it from here.”
Without a word, Marshall stands and buttons his suit coat. His eyes never break from staring at me. Like he’s continuing to size me up. He lingers a moment, as if deciding something. Then, his mind apparently made up, he goes.
I let out a breath I didn’t even fucking realize I was holding. God, it’s no wonder he’s able to get so much information out of people. The guy works forme,and I nearly confessed everything to him without him so much as asking me a question.
With another deep breath, I look back at the dossier. I force myself to flip through the rest of the information there, but I can’t really read any of it. All I can see is afterglows of the pictures of Becky on Max’s arm.
Which leads to dark fantasies of Becky on Max’s cock.
I slam the dossier closed. I immediately rip my desk phone off it’s hook and stab a button on it like I’m pissed at telecommunications and not myself and Becky and Max and Darian.
“Yes, Mr. Silver?” my secretary immediately answers.
“I need you to set up a meeting.”
“Of course. With whom, sir?”
“With Peter Strong.”
“Certainly.” I can hear the trace of hesitation in her voice. She’s been with me for a few years. And anyone who’s been even in the orbit of my company for any length of time knows of my animosity toward that prick.
Still, she’s a professional. Beyond that little hiccup, she doesn’t bat an eye. Just ask me if there’s anyone else who should be present.
“Yes,” I say. “A woman by the name of Becky Brash.” I rattle off her number, followed by some more details about my plan.
“Very good, Mr. Silver. I’ll set all that up right away.”
“Thanks,” I say, even as I’m hanging up the phone again.
I push away from my desk and from the file and turn my back on them. Instead, I turn my gaze to the city, sprawled out below me.
But I’m not really seeing it. I’m still stuck on Max and Becky. And Becky and Darian. And me and Darian and Becky.
It’s quite a hub of activity,I think.No, not a hub. A web. And webs are dangerous. You get caught in one and it’s sayonara motherfucker.
Darian and I need to get to the bottom of Becky’s involvement with Max. It’s now or never.
