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“Careful.”
“This bird doesn’t sound like a cardinal to me.” He means she’s not Order material.
“She doesn’t have to be a cardinal. Most married members live out their whole married lives without their partners ever knowing about the Order.”
“If that’s the case, then it’s all the more reason to let her work for me. I’ll keep her on my watch when she’s not at home with you.”
“You can’t hire her.”
“I can.”
“Evans,” I bark the way I did when we served in the military together.
Once on his floor, I exit the elevator and nearly run into him. We slide our phones into our pockets. I haven’t seen Evans in years. He looks good enough to strangle.
“Where is she?” I ask.
He jerks his head. “Bathroom.”
“Tell me you didn't offer her a job.”
“I offered Mrs. Mancini a job.”
I grit my teeth.
Evans picks up the silver pen from his pocket and closes his fist around it. “In case I have to stab you in the eye for trying to kill me.”
I look behind him. People are glancing up from their papers. Conversations are slowly winding down. “Too many witnesses.”
“My staff will enjoy your marital dispute once your wife finds out you’re the reason she can’t work,” he says, then leaves to sit on top of the table facing the elevator.
Right on cue, Michela walks out of the bathroom and stops dead in her tracks when she sees me. Not for long, though. She marches up to me and stabs me in the chest with a finger.
“I had three interviews this week. How many of them did you sabotage?”
“Only this one.”
“The one I really want.”
“My wife can’t work here.”
“But—”
“Michela,” I warn. She pinches her lips, then presses the button to call the elevator. It’s on the bottom floor, but Michela keeps tapping on the button as if that will make the elevator climb faster. Frustrated, she huffs and looks up at the blinking floor lights above the door.
We stand a foot apart and wait.
“Does it mean I’ll never work in this city again?” she asks.
“You won’t have to,” I tell her.
“I must leave the city, then.”
“You will still be my wife.”
We enter the empty elevator. When the doors close, neither of us presses the button for the bottom floor.
“Come on, Michela,” I tell her. “Let’s make a deal. What will it take?”
