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His eyes heat, and he nuzzles my neck. “You’re wrong about that. Zara all hot and sweaty sounds delightful. I’m going to need to witness that soon.”
I shake my head. “Nope. Workouts are my time. Nobody gets to intrude on that. Not even hot criminals in suits that cost more than my rent.”
I’m not sure why I said that last part. The fact that he lives a life of crime should not make him more attractive. And yet there’s an air of danger about him that certainly adds to the appeal.
He just chuckles and heads for his own room. Sometime this morning, a woman arrived and put stuff in his closet. I don’t know who she is or what her relationship with Luke is, but I never ask about other women. She didn’t say anything to me, so I assumed it was none of my business.
When he leaves, he’s changed into a suit and is sporting a pink tie that makes me smile.
“I’m meeting with the nightclub and alcohol sales VP here, but when I’m done, we can grab lunch and talk about the rest of your stay. Don’t forget you’ve got only a few hours left to give me the information I need.”
And then he’s gone.
I put in a call to Walter this morning, but so far, he hasn’t reached out. It might be time to make sure he knows it’s very urgent, so I send him a text and an email. Something he’s told me I should only do in an emergency because he wants to keep the paper trail to a minimum.
Yeah, he’s married.
I don’t judge.
An hour later, my phone rings.
Walter sounds agitated when I answer. “What the fuck is going on, Zara? I trust you more than anyone and they’re saying Oliver Bowden killed the mayor and they’re actively looking for you.”
“I’m not sure. But I know Oliver didn’t do it. I’m safe. I wasn’t even with him when it all went down. But listen… I need to ask an awkward question. Why did you beg me to set up a date with Oliver? Fifteen grand is nothing to laugh at, and I really need an explanation.”
He’s quiet for a minute, and I dread his response. Walter is a straight-shooter, and I’ve always trusted him. Now alarm bells are going off in my head at his hesitation. “I got a call from Renda St. Claire. She asked me if I was still seeing you.”
Fuck. Renda is a powerful madame I used to book through. When we parted ways, it wasn’t on the best of terms.
“So, you told her yes and then what?”
“She said she had thirty thousand dollars for me if I would refer you to Oliver. I wasn’t sure what she was up to, but it seemed harmless, and I figured offering you half of what she gave me was the easiest way to get you to say yes. It’s not like I need the money.”
“That’s a hell of a referral fee, Walter. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“That’s the thing. She made it clear her name wasn’t to come up. Is this going to bite me in the ass?”
I close my eyes. “Honestly, I can’t guarantee that it won’t. It’s fucked up that you agreed to this without talking to me. You know I severed my partnership with her for a damn good reason and yet you still took the money. I’m not sure I can protect you or that I can see you anymore. Everything I’ve worked for is in jeopardy because of this, and I don’t fucking appreciate it.”
“I’m sorry, Zara. Just… I’m begging you to keep my name out of this. If Melinda finds out, she’s going to take everything.”
“Then you should have made her sign a fucking pre-nup. I’m not responsible when spouses find out. My business and my personal safety are my main priorities. But I’ll do what I can to keep you out of it.”
I hang up without waiting for him to respond because I’m too pissed off to hear his voice again.
I text Luke to tell him I’ve got the information he wants. At least I think I do. There’s no telling how useful it actually is, but if Renda is involved, I have no problem handing her over to the Irish mafia.
I expect a response from Luke right away but don’t get one, so I go back to setting up my computer so I can update my website and see if there are any new orders for custom content. A year or two ago I slashed my client list in half because the travel was too hard on me, and I’ve been moving to providing more digital content. It’s not been easy to build up the client base, but it’s proving profitable, and I have more time for myself now.
There are two requests waiting for me each of them ten minutes long, which means an easy two grand. The trouble is I don’t have access to any of my recording equipment. My phone is a good enough camera, but lighting is everything. I’ll have to ask Luke about getting some lights brought in.
An hour later, I’m formatting scripts so it’s easy to film them, when the door opens and Luke steps in.
“You’re back. Did you get my message?”
He pats his pocket, then smacks his forehead. “Damn it. The FBI took my phone—don’t worry it’s encrypted—but I haven’t replaced it yet. What’s wrong?”
I motion for him to sit.
