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Miles is seated at the bar, and this is the farthest table from him, which offers a clear view, so I sit in the puddle all the same. I look around at the bar. It’s an old bar that’s been remodeled to look newer, but the fake red paint is peeling off the wall to reveal the black paint beneath.
There’s an old jukebox in the corner playing a love ballad, and there are four people seated around the wooden counter. I adjust my eyes to the dim room with no windows letting light in. The stool beside Miles is empty, but he keeps looking at the door as if waiting for someone.
Light comes in through the door, and a shadow looms in the doorway, blocking the door. When the person steps in, my mouth drops open as my hand flies to my chest.
I recognize him immediately, and then I realize I’m not surprised. Of course, it’s him. Who else would it be?
I watch him walk over to Miles, who gets off his stool. They shake hands, smiling like Bert and Ernie. In his tucked-in expensive white shirt and black pants, the man looks out of place in the bar. I watch him produce an envelope from his pocket and hand it to Miles, who smiles like a thief who’s just been told he’s out on parole.
I grab my phone from my pocket and take quick pictures of them, making sure their faces show. My flash goes off, but I quickly cover it up. Miles’ head spins around to look at me, but I quickly grab one of the half-full glasses and put it to my lips.
I heave in disgust as I put the dirty glass in my mouth, but it’s better to get a freaking disease from this glass than get caught.
Miles turns back around, and they whisper to each other, their heads close together. After a short while, Miles stands, clasps the sharply dressed man on the back, and leaves the bar. The man orders a Guinness and waits for his drink.
I stand and approach him. Before I get to him, I pull my hoodie and remove my cap. He doesn’t regard me when I rest on the bar beside him.
“Hey, Luke,” I say, a smile on my face. “Fancy seeing you here.”
His head whips around so fast I'm afraid he might break his neck. “Uh, Layla. What are you doing?” Luke looks around, his hand slipping underneath the bar. " How long have you been here?”
My smile widens as I click the record button on my phone in my hoodie’s pocket.
“Long enough to see you give Miles an envelope.” I point at the door. “You guys looked really cozy. Besties, right?”
Luke’s face contorts into a dark frown. “I don’t know what you think you saw, Layla, but—”
“Think?” I chuckle. “Luke, Luke…” I shift my stool closer to him, and his overbearing cologne worsens my nausea. “Let’s cut the bullshit, you’re the source. How did you get the recording of Tristan speaking to me? Did you bug his study?”
Luke looks around, his eyes narrowing. I can see his legs twitching as his nervousness spreads onto his face. He knows I’ve seen him; all I need him to do now is say something incriminating.
“How much do you want?” His lips stretch into a thin line. “To make you forget you saw anything.”
“I thought I didn’t see anything?” I cock my head.
“And I thought we were cutting the bullshit?”
“I need to know how you got the recording, though.” I rest my elbow on the bar. “I’ll take the money, yeah, but I need to know.”
Luke stares at me as if trying to see if I was playing him. He shrugs, then answers. “I bugged different rooms in the mansion the day I came to Tristan about the first hit piece.”
“Damn.” I whistle, then slowly clap. “You’re one cold son of a bitch, you know that. Your own best friend.” I raise a brow.
“You’re one to talk.” He snickers.
“I never betrayed him.” I hiss, then regain composure. I need to lure him in and get him to say more. “But who gives a shit, right?”
I stick my hand back into my hoodie’s side pockets and touch my phone, hoping it’s still recording.
“Why, though?” I lean forward. “Wanted the position of CEO for yourself?”
“What the fuck is all this?” Luke suddenly gets off his stool, glaring at me. “How much do you want to make this all go away?”
I get off my stool, taking my time as Luke watches me. “The thing is, I don’t want your money, Luke.” I stare up at his tanned face with slicked-back blond hair.
God, he looks like such an asshole.
Luke blinks like he’s never heard someone say that to him. He stuffs his hands in his pocket, his forehead puckering like the asshole he is.
