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“What was I saying? Enlighten me, numbnuts.” Archer raises a brow.
“That Haute’s clean as a whistle and I’m wasting your precious time.” It’s a guess but given how the circular conversation went during the first half hour, it’s not a bad one. “I’ve got your report written up here, Arch. I can see everything just as well as you.”
“Yeah, I still vote we go ahead.” Patton leans back in his chair, testing the balance.
“And get mired in something illegal?” Archer turns his glare on Patton. “You might think tangling with the law is a joke, Pat, but we need to make damn sure everything we do is entirely aboveboard. There’s no coming back from fuck ups like that.” He looks at me again. “We also can’t have any mistakes with cops.”
Shit.
Looks like he isn’t going to let calling in my favor with Batista go.
“I told you, no one’s going to find out. Plus, that file gave us clues.”
“Fucking prick,” Patton mutters, nodding at his iPad. “Haute, I mean. Though you’re both welcome to wear the hat if it fits.”
“This isn’t the time, Pat,” I snarl.
“I mean it. He’s a certified prick. What sort of dude runs this many charity fronts when he’s strapped for cash? There must be tax fraud.”
“That’s between Haute and the IRS. His loopholes can’t blowback on us as long as we don’t get mixed up in his charities.” Archer links his fingers together with practiced patience. “For the record,wedonate plenty ourselves.”
“Seriously?” Pat smirks at us both. “You make it sound like we’re just as shady as him, trying to cover our tracks.”
“Giving to charity isn’t what makes him shady,” I bite off. Usually, Patton’s bullshit makes me laugh, but today I’m wound too tight to find him funny. “It’s the fact that he could be hiding all the shady shit underneath his good deeds.”
“On paper, it’s unlikely. He’s clean, Dex,” Archer says. “No connection to anyone implicated in the bust at the golf course. Hell, the report from your PI says he’s not even cheating on his wife. Though I guess that’s up for debate if he’s as obscene as you make him sound with his sweets.”
Knowing Haute, he probablyischeating.
He just hasn’t left any sort of trail.
“There’s something we’re missing,” I growl. “Fuck, I know it.”
Archer sighs and rubs his temples.
“Look, part of me wants to believe you. But I don’t know what more I can do. Either we pull the plug on this project based on agut feelingor we listen to the evidence.”
“Pull the plug?” Patton rocks his chair forward with athump. “Not a fucking chance, Bro. Do you know how hard we’ve worked on this? And now you want to go and butcher the golden goose?”
I glance at the clock again.
With the traffic downtown, I’ll need to haul ass to get to the Sugar Bowl before the pickup.
“We don’t have to make any final decisions today,” I venture. “He still hasn’t sent us the final contract.”
“Yeah, about that—his assistant says it should be coming today. A few people were out sick on his legal team,” Archer says.
Fuck.
I stare at the table. It’s all glossy wood, gleaming and heavy as a tombstone. Just the sort of impressive and expensive Archer likes.
Patton’s right, though, even if he’s as insufferable as ever about it.
This is the deal of a lifetime.
We should be over the moon, kissing Haute’s pastry-inflated ass so he goes ahead with it.
If I’m honest with myself—and this is the sort of honesty I hate—it’s because of Junie.
