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Crossing one leg over the other, I lean back in my chair and fix him with a neutral stare. “I’ve heard rumours that your re-election campaign is targeting certain businesses with higher taxes, and I think that’s something we need to discuss.”
He rolls his lips inwards and looks to the table. “Miss Wolfe—”
“I own three strip clubs, four sex clubs, and two burlesque clubs as well as three pole studios, which according to your manifesto, will also fall under the ‘Salacious Business Tax’ and I’m struggling to understand why.” I keep my glare firm and I can see him sweat a little at his temple.
“Annika—”
“Miss Wolfe,” I correct him.
“Miss Wolfe, the city is in need of rejuvenation, modernisation, and rebranding. A new image to keep tourism up and people wanting to visit. It should be the pinnacle of luxury and exclusivity for people wanting to live within the city limits. That’s how we bring money in. And there are certain business models that do not scream class and wealth.” His mouth pulls down in a sympathetic gesture and ignites my rage.
“You think seeing sex as shameful and penalising those who express themselves sexually as modern?”
“Well, I—”
“You say my clubs do not speak to wealth, but I’ll have you know that among my patrons are some of the wealthiest people in the city. Not to mentionIam one of the wealthiest people in the city.”
“What I’m trying to say—”
“What you’re saying is, thatmybusiness isn’t good enough foryourcity, and that does not sit right with me. You do realise that by continuing to think of sex work as taboo or shameful, you’re just bringing more attention to them. You will never rid this, or any other city of the types of businesses you’re targeting. For every one that might close down because of your ridiculous tax, another will pop up. By thinking of them as the black mark on an otherwise beautiful landscape, you’re the one creating the problem. If you were to embrace the industry and think of it no differently than you do hospitality, you create a better and safer environment for both worker and clientele. But that never crossed your mind, did it?” My voice is calm, unwavering and my face remains coolly calm, I don’t raise my voice or show my emotions when talking to people like this. I won’t be labelled as the hysterical female.
Judging from the gormless expression on the mayor’s face, he has not in fact thought about a different approach and has quiteunderstood how displeased I am. Sex work is my main business, all of the syndicates dabble in all areas of crime, but we all focus on one area of expertise. I sell sex. All the businesses I told the mayor of are mine, but it’s the eighteen brothels I have across the Northwest sector of the city that bring me the most money. They wouldn’t be affected by the ‘Salacious Business Tax’ given that they’re obviously unofficial and therefore don’t pay tax.
“I suggest you rethink your position, Mr Mayor.”
“I-is that a threat?” he stutters, trying to regain his confidence.
“Unlike my male counterparts, I don’t need to threaten you, Ernest. What I’m saying makes business sense and you know it.”
He swipes a hand over his face and leans back in his chair in contemplation, but I don’t wait for him to consider. I stand, buttoning the jacket to my suit and he looks up at me in surprise.
“I have somewhere I need to be. Enjoy your lunch.”
7
HARVEY
I’m trying to listen to Annika’s conversation with the mayor from my table not six feet away but it’s hard, because I can’t stop thinking about her chest. Inconvenient, I know. The way she interrogated the Kukri earlier, calm and detached while strutting around in her bra, was very distracting. She wasn’t doing it for the male gaze, but I certainly struggled to look away. The satin cups of her bra covered everything so she was no more exposed than she would be in a bikini, but her perfect sized tits and taut stomach are now engrained in my brain. Then, they got smeared in blood and I practically punched through my jeans. That should not be hot. But it is.
And now she’s sat opposite the fucking mayor in her designer suit and cream blouse that shows her black bra beneath but isn’t sheer enough to reveal the blood of her enemy still marring her skin. I’m staring, I know I am, and I should probably stop but I can’t get over how calm and collected she looks while talking to the mayor about some tax. If only he knew what was under her shirt. Why does that thought get me angrier than anything else? He’s not allowed to see under her shirt. Pull yourself together Campos, he wasn’t trying to!
I tear my gaze away to distract myself from the thoughts that most certainly should not be in my head right now. At a table on the opposite side of them is a tall black guy in a black suit wearing sunglasses indoors. He notes me looking and gives a professional nod. The mayor’s security is a little more obvious and I briefly wonder if Annika wants me to wear a suit. No, Stuart doesn’t wear one. Annika stands suddenly, buttoning her jacket and saying something to the ashen mayor. Shit. I should have been listening, that was probably something I could take back to the captain. I follow her as she leaves, the warm, early summer sun hitting us both as we hit the pavement outside. The restaurant doesn’t have valet parking, so we walk to the car a few feet down the road, Annika’s heels clicking loudly in the quiet street.
When we approach the car, I hurry a few steps ahead of her and reach for the door at the same time she does. Our hands brush against each other, and I feel something like an electric shock except it doesn’t just zap at my fingers. Instead, it shoots up my arm and thrums in the centre of my chest. Annika pulls away quickly, like my lowly, peasant status will rub off on her skin. When we both straighten, me opening the door, we’re close. Too close. She regards me with that cold ice-queen stare, and I try not to think about how good she smells, like a forest in summertime. She seems so unaffected by my proximity that I would think she doesn’t notice it. That is until I catch the heavy rise and fall of her chest as she tries to level out her breathing. My eyes dip to watch the movement and snag of the faintest hint of red beneath her blouse. Kukri blood. My tongue darts out to wet my parched lips and I slowly tear my gaze back to her eyes. She’s watching me with a quirk to her brow. Of course, she saw me staring at her breasts like a dog would a bone. Sliding past me, she slips into the car with the same elegance and composureshe always exudes, and I’m left to shut the door and compose myself in the time it takes me to round the hood.
“You’re moving in to one of my properties,” Annika states the fact rather than asks the question while we’re driving back to the club.
I clear my throat, feeling genuinely embarrassed that I have to admit that I’m homeless. “Yeah, Stuart suggested it.”
She nods, looking out the window. “Are you bad with money,detective?”
I grind my teeth at her condescending tone. “No.”
“I know how much a detective with your experience is paid, you should have enough savings to hold on to a modest property for a few months while you find a replacement income and yet you’re leaving less than a month after losing your job.”
A thrum of excitement starts in my gut as I find an in. Faking a casualness, I huff out a laugh. “You know the salary structure of the capital’s police force? For what purpose? Paying your moles in the department a competitive rate?”
“No,” she says flatly. “I had my guys look into it so I could decide what to pay you.”
