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Evan, maybe, but not Olivia. Maybe…
“Look, you think I want to fucking be here?” Evan growls, pushing my hand to the table so I’ll stop eating and focus on him. “I don’t want to be here any more than you want me here. But Olivia's not the only person Dylan Sharpe has shit on. That fucker’s got info on me, too. And he’s vindictive as can be. So I’m in a hard spot, and since you wouldn’t have shit if it wasn’t for me, I’m hoping you might find a shred of decency and help me.”
The anger and intensity in his voice give me a moment of pause. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like this.Desperation looks good on him, I think with a tiny hint of sick satisfaction. “You do realize the size of the grain of salt I would need to take anything you say seriously, right?”
Evan scoffs. “You don’t believe me? Ask him. He’s a shit liar,” Evan says. “It’s how I took him in poker all the time. He can’t fucking bluff. Dylan’s barely able to hold his own in his little circle jerk of buddies playing together.”
I know about Dylan’s occasional card games. He told me about them after I first went to his apartment. But I didn’t think Evan knew about them. What else does Evan know? “Still, you’re out of your mind if you think I’m going to help you. Evan, your entire fucking world can burn down for all I care.”
“Yeah? But here’s the thing,” Evan says, his eyes going shrewd. “If my world’s going to burn, you want it to be becauseyou caused it. Because you think I deserve it.” He waits a second, like he thinks I might say ‘oh, no, you don’t deserve that,’ so I pointedly lick my lips and then press them closed. He smirks like he finds it amusing. “You’re still someone who believes in fairness and justice. That’s why you want me hurt. Justice.”
“Perhaps,” I admit, knowing Evan’s got me pegged to a T. Even in the backstabbing world of the Financial District, there are lines I won’t cross.
“Justice is only justice if it’s delivered at the hands of those who are worthy of dispensing it,” Evan says. “Think that over. In the meantime, listen. All I want is an old email deleted. It’s on Dylan’s personal server and has some information in there he’s lording over me. That’s all I need.”
“More dirty laundry?” I ask, and Evan shakes his head. “What is it?”
“Something that would make my family very… perturbed,” Evan finally says.
I roll my eyes and stand up. “If they’re not perturbed by you by now, I doubt anything short of?—”
Evan reaches out, his hand quick as a snake, and grabs my wrist, cutting me off. “Look, he’s blackmailing me,” he hisses. “You want me to fucking burn? Fine. But at least let me fight from a fair standing against that asshole. That’s all I’m saying.”
I shake him off, jerking my hand free from him. “Don’t you ever touch me again,” I say loud enough to get attention. Last time Evan and I went face to face, I was worried about causing a scene, but I’m taking a page out of Ami’s book. Who cares what anyone else in Goldman’s thinks? “Because I swear to God, the next time your hand touches mine, I’ll leave with your fucking eyeballs in my purse.”
Ironically, it’s Evan who cares about the growing scene.
He lowers his voice so that it’s just between us, his eyes cutting left and right. “November sixth, eight years ago,” Evan says. “An email from me to him. I sent it at twofifty-three in the afternoon. Subject line isSUSHI DINNER AT KAZOKU’S. Just delete it, then you can go on and try to destroy me, Raven.”
Grabbing my bag, I turn and leave Goldman’s pissed beyond thinking straight. But as I descend into the subway, I can’t shut up the little voice in my gut that says there’s a chance that Evan might be telling the truth. Or that, at the very least, I want to know what the hell is in that email.
What could Dylan have over Evan?
Dylan, by his own admission, hates Evan with an acidic vehemence that matches only mine. It’s a hatred beyond the professional, into the personal.
Someone who hates that much… might just cross a line in order to enact his revenge.
When Evan leaves and the threat of having to listen to his voice and remember the time we spent together is gone, I can’t stop wondering what the hell would be in that email? What does Dylan have that has Evan scared that much?
And did he really blackmail Olivia and force her out of the city? Questions pile up, and I don't like a single one of them.
CHAPTER 24
DYLAN
Istrip off my shirt, just about ready to step into the shower for a well-deserved soak after a day where I accomplished more than I’d planned. I had to be out of the office for most of it, which means I’ve missed Raven all day.
Damned City Hall.
A meeting with the mayor and influential members of the city council ran longer than I expected. Two investments I’m making in town were being held up for purely political reasons, and negotiations on the required offset to clear the path took longer than I expected. But it was a productive day, all in all.
In the end, I gained approval for a five hundred million-dollar acquisition with the financially acceptable investment of only fifty million dollars. The offset? My agreement to renovate and expand half a dozen youth parks in disadvantaged neighborhoods in the city, something I would’ve happily done regardless of their rubber stamp on my proposal. I already give over amillion dollars a year to programs there. I do it quietly, not trying to make a splash and gain attention for it, but those at the mayor’s level know where their funds come from.
As the steam fills the room, I rub the back of my neck, replaying the conversations. It took a lot of dancing around the solution, but in the end, I was able to walk out with what I wanted. A rare use of a Monday afternoon and evening at home, where I’ll be later joined by Raven for our usual nightly session. A grin pulls at my lips.
I’m eager to share the news with her. She’ll understand more than most.
I drop my shirt to the floor, but before I can undo my pants, my phone’s alarm goes off. My hand freezes, and I pull it out to see that the personal alarm I’ve got in my office has been triggered. It’s not one that building security has, because anyone who’s gotten that far clearly is someone who belongs in the building.
