Page 39 of Don't Tell

"Maddox." I gesture to the chair across from my desk and lean back in mine. "Sit down."

He sits. He crosses one knee over the other. He takes his time when doing so. "I know you’re a busy man, so I’ll get to the point.”

"Please."

"I've come into possession of certain documents." He watches my face when he says it. I give him nothing. "Internal memos. Correspondence from the acquisition. Materials that, in the wrong hands, could raise significant questions about how that deal was conducted." He pauses. "I want to be clear that I'm not here to threaten you. I'm here to give you the opportunity to address this privately — between us — before I decide what to do with them."

"And what are your options?"

He tilts his head slightly. "Several. Going public would be one. The press tends to enjoy this kind of thing, as I'm sure you know. There's also the legal route." He smiles. "I imagine you'd look quite different in orange."

I look at him for a moment. Then I say, "Whatever documents you believe you have are either forgeries or were obtained illegally."

He starts to speak. I don’t let him.

"Either way," I continue, "they change nothing. The acquisition was legal. Every piece of paperwork has been reviewed, and it is defensible. If you'd like to go public, go public. If you'd like to pursue the legal route, pursue it." I stand. "You're welcome to do whatever you think will serve you, Maddox. This discussion is over."

He stands slowly, taking his time with it. He's almost to the door when he turns.

"I have a long memory, Nightingale," he says.

"So do I," I tell him.

“This is far from over.” He leaves.

Empty threats have a certain rhythm to them — the pacing, the weighted pauses, the theatrical exit line. Maddox delivered his well enough, but I've spent too many years in this game not to know the difference between a man holding cards and a man hoping you'll think he is.

He didn't show me the documents and didn't describe them beyond vague posturing. That tells me everything.

James’s voice comes through the intercom. "Mr. Nightingale, the Wren Studio rep has been moved to the conference room. Whenever you're ready."

"Coming now."

I button my jacket, take the folder from my desk, and step into the corridor, only to find Lila standing in the corridor outside my office.

She looks up when I step out, and her face spreads into a bright smile.

"Cade, I know you're busy. I just needed five minutes."

I stop and look at her. Then I glance past her in the corridor, at James’s desk just visible around the corner, wondering why they even let her up without checking with me. Knowing Lila, she probably charmed the pants off the receptionist.

“You haven’t been picking up my calls.” Her bottom lip wobbles slightly. I want to laugh because it’s ridiculous. What does she think this is?

I don’t react to her tactics. "There's a reason for that."

The warmth in her expression flickers, adjusts. She takes a small step closer. "Cade, yesterday was a misunderstanding. I was trying to be friendly. We've known each other long enough that I thought…"

"Lila, you need to behave yourself. What happened at the property yesterday is not going to happen again."

"I was just — "

"I'm not finished." I wait. She's quiet. "If you show up somewhere I am without an invitation, I'll stop being polite about it. You can take it or not. That's your choice."

"We go way back, Cade. That's just how our friendship works, and you know — "

"I have a meeting."

I walk past her toward the conference room.