Page 108 of Corrupt

I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing the emotion down, forcing myself back into the room, back into the world where I still had to function. Where Lord Wolfe waited for me over linen and wine and shallow conversation.

I slipped my phone into my pocket, straightened my tie, and checked my reflection.

Pale. Eyes too bright. But presentable.

Good enough.

When I stepped back into the restaurant, the warmth hit me first. Low light, polished wood, oil paintings lining the walls. Lawyers murmured over plates of food, voices softened by years of discretion. Wolfe sat exactly where I’d left him, posture relaxed, jacket draped neatly over the back of his chair, as if he’d never doubted I’d return.

He looked up as I approached and smiled, all easy warmth and practised reassurance. “Everything all right?”

I slid into the chair opposite him. “Uh… yes. Well, no.”

I reached for the wine, took a sip tasting sharp and wrong, then set the glass down. I could feel Wolfe’s attention sharpen, the way a room seems to tilt when someone truly starts watching.

“Sorry.” I had nothing else useful to offer. “I’ve had… some upsetting news.”

“Oh, dear.” Wolfe’s expression softened, sympathy arranged with rehearsed ease. “Nothing too tragic, I hope.”

He reached for the bottle and topped my glass up without asking. I watched the wine darken, the surface settling, and made a choice. Better to offer something than nothing at all. Better to seem open than secretive. Better perhaps to nudge him away from whatever he thought he might claim from me.

“The man I’ve been seeing,” I said carefully, “he’s… unwell. And I might not see him for a while.”

Wolfe didn’t react straight away. He let the silence stretch long enough to make me want to fill it. I didn’t though. I’d been brought up on those silences.

“Your father didn’t mention you were seeing anyone.” He poured more wine into his own glass.

“My father doesn’t know everything about me.”

Amusement splashed across Wolfe’s face. “I should hope not.”

I held his gaze, suddenly aware of how much I was giving away. My father’s voice echoed faintly in my head. My brother’s. Don’t give him more than he’s earned. But if Wolfe had been on my street that morning, if he’d seen Razor with me, then fibbing would look far worse than honesty. Better to acknowledge it. Strip it of mystery. Make it smaller. He couldn’t know who Razor was. Yes, Razor had been the one to orchestrate Wolfe’s removal from the Velvet Lounge, but Wolfe hadn’t seen him or knew he had anything to do with me.

He lifted his glass and took a sip. “Charles said you’d had a rather difficult run of late. Since your breakup with…” He tapped his fingers on his glass as if searching his memory. “Oliver Montgomery. Evan Montgomery’s son. Private equity.”

I didn’t correct him. There was nothing to correct.

“And Charles mentioned how he felt Oliver was never quite the right fit for you.” Wolfe popped down his glass. “That you were finding it… challenging to find an appropriate partner. Is this new one not appropriate for Hale-Fitzroy approval?”

Appropriate.

Code for pedigree. For polish. Names that opened doors and dinners that never turned awkward.

I rubbed my palms over the napkin in my lap. “He’s not inappropriate,” I said, a shade too quickly. “But things between us are very early. There’s no need to involve my father’s disapproval just yet.”

“Of course.” Wolfe smiled, sipping his wine, his gaze never leaving my face. “What line of work is he in?”

I wished I’d said nothing.

“Clubs.”

“Ah.” Wolfe nodded. “Private members? Or one of those dance establishments?” He tilted his head. “Lucrative when they’re well run. Though not without… volatility. Hospitality’s rather unforgiving these days. I imagine it must be difficult, being with someone whose life operates so far outside your own rhythms.”

I stiffened. He noticed.

Because Razor’s line of work was more aligned with mine than was reasonably acceptable.

“Law is predictable.” Wolfe picked up his glass. “Structure. Timetables. Consequences. Some people find that comforting.”