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Hopefully, it should pick up everything we need to land a warrant and end this fuckery.
Haute shows up late with his usual swagger, hiding his power in wide shoulders and slicked-back hair. His bearish brown eyes are as unreadable as ever.
Everything about him screams ‘rich,’ from the showy gold watch on his wrist to the expensive suit and designer cologne wafting off him like a sea breeze.
He’s a man who prides himself on being the most expensive if he can’t be the best.
In his mind, they’re the same thing.
I wonder how much blood is on his hands. How many atrocities did he have a hand in to maintain these lavish appearances?
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he says without a hint of real apology. I’m not stupid, keeping me waiting is a pure power move.
I nod slowly, following him to the elevator.
“Frankly, I was a bit surprised when I received the meeting request. All things considered, I didn’t think I’d hear from you again.”
“Then you have the wrong impression, Mr. Haute,” I say smoothly. “I don’t turn my back on friends, let alone the ones who impress me.”
He stares at me, cold and assessing before his eyes light. I’m not prepared for the thick hand that slaps my shoulder, rocking me back.
“Let’s step out on the balcony, Dex—the views are positively deadly here. We’ll have a drink and you can tell me what this is really all about.”
So far, so good.
The pig loves flattery like a bee covets honey.
The balcony is farther from the main road in this unit. Farther from my brothers, but he’s not likely to try anything weird. I can’t believe this man was ever any kind of brawler.
I just have to hope he’s come alone, and there’s no one else waiting with our wine.
The balcony is just as beautiful as he promises with a sheer glass wall revealing the cityscape below. The afternoon sunset glints across the high-rises in the distance, painting the sky with its cotton candy glow of blues and pinks.
“Champagne?” Haute asks, pulling a bottle from the fridge.
I steel my face, trying not to frown.
Obviously, he had someone come here ahead of us to prep everything. But at least there’s no sign of a third wheel. No sign that this is anything except a business meeting with us or perhaps a meeting between friends.
“Sure,” I say and he hands me a glass, then fills it. “Thanks.”
“Now, I assume this is about the Mill and your plans? You’re still committed to moving forward?” He takes a sip and I follow suit.
It’s good stuff—expensive, like everything Haute owns.
“Actually, it’s a little more than that.” I take another drink. My throat is too damn dry. “But first, let me say again how pleased I am to be in business together.”
He waves a hand. “It’s a mutually beneficial deal.”
Just how beneficial is it for you?
I don’t even know whether he’s going to involve the Mill in whatever shady shit he’s started with the Sugar Bowl, but it’s a decent bet.
“I’m especially glad I introduced you to my fiancée’s bakery,” I continue, hating how much the F-word stabs me in the guts. That grabs his attention—he glances at me sharply. “The pastries clearly mean a lot to you and your partners. They’re the perfect cover.”
“They are delicious,” he drawls, his eyes assessing now.
“And I know howimportantthey are. For your more serious ventures, I mean, beyond real estate.”
