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“Not yet.”
“Does he know about this?” I ask.
Faye only smiles and it’s clear Ryder doesn’t know. Not on a deep down level, not…whatever it is she’s hinting at.
“Elliot,” she says, “the trick here he doesn’t and he shouldn’t. You need to bring this fundamental change in him. One he doesn’t see coming, and you can’t discuss this with him. Do the job as you both planned, but I like you, so I wanted you to know I’m looking for something else—”
“Like what?”
“I’ll know it when I see it.”
What the hell have I gotten myself into here? “You want me to bring about some kind of magical change in him that I don’t know what it is, and neither does he?”
“Exactly.”
“Oh, well, in that case,” I say, letting the sarcasm out, “that sounds easy.” I stop, look at her. “Are you going to offer me more money for this?”
Faye takes another sip of champagne. “Would you take it?”
“No.” There’s not even a question. “I just want to know what it is you’re actually asking.”
“What the fuck are you two talking about?”
We both turn and there’s Ryder. Waiting.
Chapter Thirteen
Ryder
“Now, Ryder, language,” my mother says with the kind of breeze people use to hide all kinds of things behind.
“I asked a question.”
I shift my gaze from my mother to Elliot, whose red hair is cascading from the glittering comb holding it up. This isn’t a deliberate effect; her hair’s escaping and it gives her a soft freshness I appreciate. I also appreciate the dark burnt orangey-black velvet dress that has a very thirties style about it. But that and her luscious, fascinating mouth aside, I’m not appreciating the lack of answers.
From either of them.
My mother isn’t about to talk, not unless she wants to, and I’m beginning to think there’s an ulterior motive why they were discussing money.
“Elliot?”
She has an air of caught red-handed, but that fades and steel and composure move in and damned if the two of them haven’t been infused with the same sort of sneaky stubbornness I don’t like. Mainly because I get my stubborn streak from the well preserved woman calling herself my mother.
“I heard something about money.” I take a swallow of the new glass of champagne I grabbed. “And a suspicious man might think that’s to do with him. I’m a very suspicious man.”
“I tried to steal her away to work for me, but she wasn’t having it.” My mother air kisses me and slides a glance at Elliot and then she’s gone, disappearing into the boring and too-moneyed—an irony not lost on me—crowd.
“Well?”
Elliot just sighs and takes the champagne from me. She doesn’t drink it, simply holds it, like she needed a lifeline or something similar. “It was nothing.”
“Really?” I lean in and say against her ear, “sure looked like something.”
“Don’t crowd me.” She gives me a little shove with the glass flute of golden liquid. “She knows you hired me.”
“Of course she does.” I take a tiny step back. “She’s not an idiot.”
“If she didn’t buy me as your girlfriend, then I don’t know about everyone else.”
