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Aoife’s eyes clenched.
“Your father,” I answered for her.
“We’ve started talking but he…” Her mouth worked. “We can’t meet. For obvious reasons.”
Considering what we’d just been discussing…
“I don’t believe in coincidences,” I commented.
“Me either. Fuckers,” Star agreed grimly. “It stinks of leverage. This is either a trap or they’re trying to offset guilt by shifting most of the upcoming news cycle on the president’s secret love child than on them.”
Aoife blanched at our rundown, sagging back into the couch with wide, scared eyes that made me want to hurt Smythe and Foundry more than I already did.
“That’s a grandiose assumption seeing as they kill first, ask questions later,” I remarked.
“DeLaCroix was arrested, Reinier’s disappeared, and there’s an Interpol department being established as we speak… They must think we don’t want their blood, just their asses in a jail cell.”
There was no arguing with that logic so I shot her a smirk. “How foolish of them.”
Her dark eyes turned flat. “Perfect, more like.”
9
STAR
“Mr. President, it’s an honor to meet you.”
Davidson, two steps inside the hotel room, froze at the sound of my voice. “Who are you?”
“I’m here on Aoife’s behalf.” I arched a brow at him from my seat in one of the suite’s armchairs.
“She didn’t want to see me?”
“She didn’t feel like being at the center of a media storm. Not sure I could blame her.”
He narrowed his eyes at me. “And who are you?”
“My name’s Star Sullivan.”
Davidson rested his hands against the back of an antique sofa and leaned into it. “How do I know this isn’t a trap?”
“Call Aoife.”
“If it were as easy as that, I wouldn’t have asked to meet her.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’m cell free at the moment.”
“Why?”
He pursed his lips at me. “Give your phone to me and I’ll call her. Assuming you have her as a contact?”
“Such little faith, sir,” I mocked, but I got to my feet, tapped Aoife’s name in my contacts list, and handed him the cell.
With a measured glance, he eyed the phone then accepted it. “Aoife? Who is this person?” His frown darkened at her answer. “Why aren’t you here? I need to speak with you.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t want to deal with an intermediary. I want to talk to you, dammit.”
A couple minutes later, with gritted teeth, he disconnected the call. I held out my hand, waiting for him to pass it back to me, but he didn’t.
He dropped it to the ground then dug his heel into it until it shattered beneath the pressure.
“If you wanted to brick it, you didn’t have to go old school,” I drawled at the sight of the phone on the expensive carpet beneath us.
