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He snorts. But he sure as hell doesn’t hop off the counter and walk across to save me from my tedious task. “I’d much rather watch you fumble around and insult that poor woman some more. How much do you think it costs to stay in the city, Doc? It sure ain’t free.”
“My first car didn’t even cost seven thousand dollars! Who the hell would spend that kind of cash on something that ends in three days? Like, what?” I drop my hands and spin on the couch. “You sleep there. You raid the mini fridge. You move on. What are they offering that could possibly cost seven grand?”
“Pretty sure Archer spentoodlesmore than that on your seven-day honeymoon,” he smirks. “And that didn’t include accommodation, considering we own the boat you parked your bikini-clad backside on for the week. You could have bought a whole ass house in Texas for the same amount he spent on your trip to Jamaica.”
“Shush.” I turn again and slump back into my chair. “We have an agreement. My husband doesn’t talk about money, I don’t talk about money.”
“You’re the one bringing money up right now!”
“I’m bringing up how ridiculous something costs. Seven thousand dollars! I could use that to buy new chairs for my staff. Or new computers. Coffee machines for every floor of the George Stanley.”I could offer it to Fifi and buy her loyalty for a little longer.“I’m going to New York to testify in a case that will hopefully see a man sent back to prison. I’mnotspending seven thousand dollars on a bed to sleep in for a few measly nights.”
“Which brings us back to staying at the house.” He pops off the counter, touching down on the floor with his size thirteen shoes so the sound ricochets throughout my small apartment. “Stay with Lix, and you save the seven grand. Plus, he’d feed you, too. So that’s more money saved. He’d provide you a car to travel into Manhattan for court; that’s money saved again.” He snags a bag of chips from the pantry—the crinkle and tear of the packet, all the clues I need to know what he’s doing—then he wanders around until I see him in my peripherals. “Lix is gonna throw a fit if he finds out you’re close but not staying with him.”
“Lix has a girlfriend now, which would imply his obsession with annoying me has somewhat abated?—”
He snorts. “Wouldn’t bet on it.”
“Add in that he’s planning a wedding and, ya know, running a freakin’ drug cartel, and I’m gonna assume he’s a tad busy.”
“You confusedrug cartelwith a plain oldpowerful family. Understandable, of course, seeing as how you’re a normie and we’re not. But we’re more in the business of money. Not drugs.”
“Sell drugs, make money.” I close my eyes and ignore him when he tosses a Frito into his mouth and chews like a cow. “One hand works with the other.”
“Run clubs,” he counters. “Pretty ladies dance for money, and horny dudes pay to drink and sleep with them. Make money.”
“So Felix is a dirty old pimp.” I roll my eyes. They’re still closed. The eyelids, literally slid down to cover the organ. But they roll. “That’s called prostitution. I guess I misspoke when I said drug dealer. I meant pimp.”
“You’re tired and cranky.” Chuckling, he comes around so I feel the loose material of his shorts brush my knee, then he sits on the coffee table, beaming when I drag my eyes open and meet his emerald stare. “He’s not a pimp. We both know that. He’s not a drug dealer. Heisfluent in washing money, though. It’s a victimless crime.”
“Pretty sure the Federal Reserve would disagree.” Listlessly, I lift my phone again and offer it. “Please get me and Archer a room. Make itcomfortable, but don’t spend laundered money. I wouldn’t be able to sleep if I knew it cost a god-awful amount.”
“But you also won’t sleep if bugs are crawling on your skin.” He sets his bag of chips on the table and snatches the phone. Unlocking it—I havenoclue how he knows the passcode—he types something in and hums in the back of his throat as hetap-tap-tapsalong to his own beat. “Breakfast,” he murmurs. “Door security. No gold-plated toilet and not six thousand dollars.”
“Seven thousand,” I grumble. “She quoted me seven.”
“You’re worried about Archer, huh?” He meets my eyes over the top of the phone, holding my stare for a long beat. “He called earlier and mentioned the bullets, though I’ve been sworn to secrecy about those. He said you’re going through some shit right now with Seraphina leaving and now the cop-killer walking our streets.”
“Which is why you’re here at,” I twist and glance at the clock on the wall, still on New York time after I neglected to change it when I moved. “Five-thirty. You’d usually be at the stadium around this time.”
“I’m wherever my family needs me to be. Felix is covered by Micah. Tim’s in the bar next door. He controls the wall at his back and has the building secure. Arch and Fletch are busy hunting a killer, and you’re having your girly feelings about Fifi.” He goes back to tapping on my phone. “I’m wherever I need to be, whenever I have to be there. Besides,”tap, “I kinda said some stuff to Jenna earlier today that landed me with a sore face,” grinning, he reaches up and cups his cheek. “It was worth it.”
“Jenna? As in, the daughter of the Copeland Condor’s basketball teamowner?”
“Stepdaughter. And she’s grown enough to fight her own battles. I doubt she tells the old man about her troubles.”
“But you say things that end with a red cheek and her palm, no doubt, stinging.”
“I call that the price of admission.” Another tap. Another. Then he pulls back and watches the screen. “Here, got you a room on Fifth Avenue. Not the expensive ass one, but one that is secure and safe and comes with a mini fridge. You don’t have to know the price, I won’t tell you, but I promise it’s not seven thousand dollars.”
I narrow my eyes and stare deep into his. “Not six thousand either, right?”
He winks and shoves up, snatching his bag of chips again. “Not six, either. It’s been paid for with Malone money, so save the city’s seven grandand buy your coffee machines and new chairs. And I swear to God,” he frees a chip from the bag, pointing it my way and threatening, “when Felix finds out you’ve disrespected him, you keep my name out of your mouth. If he hears I’m the one who booked your room, he’s gonna lash out at me.”
“He’s not lashing out at anyone.” I check my screen for a moment and spy the tiny, thumbnail images of a room. Glass walls. A picture of the New York skyline. But there’s no price, so I toss the device and slump back on the couch. “Felix is a total pussycat. I’m not sure why everyone acts so afraid of him.”
“Pussycat for the ladies,” he taunts, heading across the room and checking the peephole when thudding footsteps echo on the concrete stairs in the hall. “But he sheds that soft fur when it’s time to take care of business.”Crunch. He tosses another Frito into his mouth. “You catch anything interesting from the dead cop today?”
“Just that he’s dead. Healthy male, early to mid-thirties. Nonsmoker. His liver showed no signs of alcohol abuse. His brain was clear—no bleeds.”
