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“Just their hearts,” I answer drily. I grab the envelope of cash Woodrow delivered earlier. “Come here.”
Willow abandons the cabinets and stalks slowly up to me. Her eyes slide over my monitors before settling on my face. She grins and reaches over me and puts her cup of coffee down on my desk. Then she stands right in front of my chair, takes my face in her hand, and roughly turns it to the side.
“That looks pretty bad, Luca. Maybe your butler should get you an ice pack.”
Willow’s words are clearly intended as an insult to me, but it’s Woodrow’s lips which form a tight, narrow line. I don’t want Willow to think she’s insulted me, but nor do I want Woodrow to think I would permit Willow to so brashly insult him.
“Woodrow isn’t my butler,” I reply, calm but cold.
“Sorry. I meant yournanny.”
And before I can retort, she moves a little to the side but keeps a hold of my face, pointing my cheek in Woodrow’s direction.
“Doesn’t that look pretty painful to you, Eddie?”
To his credit, Woodrow doesn’t rise to her blatant baiting. He stares at her with that heavy austerity of his, like a disappointed teacher waiting for a tiresome student to stop their antics. His dignity is gathered about him like an impenetrable cloak as he addresses me with lugubrious formality.
“Will there be anything else, Mr Fletcher-Lowe?”
“Thank you, Ned,” I call, my voice slightly muffled by the way Willow is squeezing my cheeks. “That will be all for today.”
Woodrow hesitates only for a fraction of a second. Then he turns, his back so stiff his skeleton could have been made of titanium, and leaves the room, closing the door tactfully behind him.
Leaving me confined alone with that mouthful of poison in human form, who turns back to me with a smirk.
“Your butler really cares, huh?”
“Woodrow is paid to care. My wellbeing ensures his paychecks and his quality of life.”
“Hm.” Willow releases my face and glances back at the door. “You know, he’s kind of hot, in his own way. Big working man, very loyal, very serious. Makes me want to lure him into some dark corner and have my way with him.”
My mind, against my will, paints the picture Willow’s words describe.
Willow, in fishnets, black denim skirt hitched around her waist, straddling Woodrow in a closet, her fingers digging into his big shoulders and her red mouth twisted into a smirk as she rides him. Woodrow’s doughy face, normally so composed and solemn, transformed by guilt and pleasure as he fucks himself into her, his mouth on her neck, his hands grasping her hips.
The image is visceral and disturbing. It makes my insides crawl and my mouth dry. I swallow back the unexpected wave of displeasure and raise an eyebrow at Willow.
“Please refrain from sexually harassing my staff.”
She gives an annoying tut. “It’s only sexual harassment whenIdo it.”
Her implication is obvious, but if Willow Lynch thinks anything I’ve done to her so far is sexual harassment, then she’s got one hell of a storm coming.
21
Spearcrest Kings
Luca
Blissfully unaware of mytrain of thought, Willow walks over to my whiteboard, peering at the network of photographs and notes.
“What’s with all the hot guys and girls on your creepy board? Your exes or something?”
“Not quite. Those are—” I pause, gazing at the map of names and faces—the Spearcrest Kings and their girls—and decide to give her the most elegant answer. “Old friends.”
Willow turns her head to toss me a look over her shoulder, both eyebrows raised, lips squiggling. “Youhave friends?”
She doesn’t wait for a response before stepping closer to the board, peering at the photographs. She stops in front of a picture of a grim-faced girl with long brown hair parted down the middle and lets out a whistle.
