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“Just lay low for a few days and if I hear anything else, I'll let you know anything pertinent.”
There's still one thing bugging me. “Who's the client, Harry?”
“You don't need to know,” he replies without any hesitation. He also doesn't hide the growing aggravation from me. “And that answer will not change.”
“You don't think I should know? There's so much smoke and so many mirrors around Decker. How can I be sure it's not him pulling your strings.”
“Listen. It boils down to this... do you trust me, Aiden? Because if you don't, we've got far bigger issues than just this case.”
“I owe you. You know that,” I reply.
“Yeah. And that right there should tell you everything you need to know.”
Something prickles at my subconscious. “How'd you find out about the other case?”
“Doesn't matter. I just need you to do your damn job and trace the money. Get the dirt and get out. Then you can leave Vegas and everyone that's there behind. Isn't that what you want to do?”
Damn the man for hitting a bullseye.
“Yeah, yeah. Fine. But if shit goes south, I--”
“It won't. You've got your job, I've got mine, and Marlee has hers. Stay out of her way and she'll stay out of yours,” he says, cutting me off.
“And what do I tell her when she asks me who our client is again? If you think I don't let things go--”
“Aiden, it's covered. It's fine. Move the fuck on.”
I'm the one bristling now. Not once since I've been working for him has Harry been so closed off. “Yes, Harrison.”
Finally, I see a crack in his gruff demeanor. “Fuck off with that shit. We'll talk soon.”
“Yeah. OK.”
The line goes dead and I'm left staring at my phone, wondering what the hell just happened.
Whatever it is, it doesn't bode well.
Chapter 8
Marlee
“Fuck you’re stunning,” Decker says by way of a welcome when I arrive at the private table he’s sitting at. It’s a glass skybox above the main floor of the Phoenix restaurant which is within the same entertainment precinct as Marquis. He stands to greet me, kissing my cheek with a press of his lips to my skin that lasts a second past appropriate before stepping back to rake his eyes over my body.
It is hard not to preen under his hungry, appreciative gaze even though he’s the last man I’d ever want to impress. I know I look good, that was the aim of wearing this far-too-expensive-for-my-tastes ruby-red dress that clings to my curves like a second skin. Tonight I’m channeling Quinn, I’m playing a role, wearing a mask. That’s the only thing I’m focusing on.
“Thank you,” I reply, taking the seat opposite him when it's offered to me. “Have you been waiting long?”
He returns to his spot with his back to the wall. “I think any man who knows your worth would wait forever just to have the vision of you in that dress walking toward him.”
The blush that pinks my cheeks at his praise is genuine, the knowing grin that curves my lips is not. “When you're in the business I'm in, you have to make an entrance.”
“Believe me, you have succeeded in doing that.”
The waiter appears, saving me from having to respond. After asking Decker what he'd like to order, and notably not asking for any input from me, we're left alone again.
I take the opportunity to take in the scene around me. The Phoenix is the newest fine-dining restaurant on the Strip. It’s focus is farm-to-plate and sustainable eating. Everything is organic and every single part of the business is environmentally friendly. The whole establishment is solar-powered, the furnishings are recycled and reused, and the cuisine is out of this world from all accounts. It's all very 'new age' and 'feel good' despite the price tags on dining here going into the thousands.
The glass skybox we're currently sitting in is glass on three sides and solid on the other, with a frosted glass floor and a huge skylight as a ceiling giving the feeling of being outside rather than in the middle of a bustling restaurant on the Strip.
