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“Asshole. What’s going on?” She looks between me and the closed door.
I shrug. “Don’t know.”
“Liar.”
“Get out, Wryn,” I say, and her nostrils flare this time but in anger instead of surprise.
“I don’t think I will.”
I stand abruptly, my hand finding her neck and pulling her to me, nose to nose. Her eyes widen, and her mouth parts slightly on a gasp.
“I didn’t give you an option.” I let her go, and she moves back. It’s enough space to get her away from me, from allowing me to breathe her in. I can’t seem to stay away from her. I need to make her leave.
“This isn’t over,” she says before turning and striding to the door.
She stops briefly at the door to turn the knob, and I let my voice ring out clear. “No, it’s not.”
Her head turns, the light illuminating her profile. Then, she opens the door, and she’s gone.
But I think we are talking about two different things.
No, it’s fucking not.
22
CONNOR
It doesn’t take long for everyone to assemble, seated almost identically to the way they were last time. Lucas and Arie couldn’t get away, so they aren’t here. Or that’s what Geo told me.
I can feel his questioning eyes on me, but I ignore him.
I bang my open palm on the desk, quieting everyone, and then after a tense moment of silence, I say, “Geo, share what you know.”
He told me earlier after calling the meeting, but now, everyone needs to know. Then, we can plan what to do, how to go from here.
Everyone focuses on Geo, and I finally do too.
“The flower shop in question is called Fleur,” he starts.
Ginny snorts from her post in the chair in front of the fireplace. “Very original,” she drawls.
I glare at her, and she shuts her mouth.
“It’s owned by a Madame Delia—has been for fifty years. As far as we can tell, legally, she’s an upstanding citizen. She’s eighty, and the shop has been run by her grandchildren. We don’t think she knows anything that’s going on. We think it’s all been operated by one grandson who has ties to your father, Dean.”
Dean glances up, looking at me first and then meeting Geo’s eyes. “I don’t know anything,” he says.
I consider his statement for a moment. It was spoken quickly, almost too fast to be believable.
“Have you ever met a Jacques DeLuna?” Geo questions. He’s Madame Delia’s grandson.
I see recognition flit across Dean’s eyes. My feet eat up the floor, and I grab him by his shirt, hauling him to his feet in front of me.
“Why haven’t you brought this to me?” I say, and he reaches up, hitting my wrist so that I drop my grip on him.
“I didn’t fucking know he was involved with this. I thought he was someone who did the dirty work for my father.”
“Outside hires aren’t common,” I say, raising my eyebrows, letting him know I don’t believe him.
