Page 54 of Corrupt

He’d be paying tonight.

“Tristan.” He didn’t offer a smile. Not even the thin, professional one he reserved for colleagues he despised.

I slid into the seat opposite. “Marcus.”

The air between us cooled immediately, as if someone had cracked a window and let in a draught of disapproval.

“Thank you for coming on short notice.” He lifted a hand, and a server materialised instantly. The magic trick of expensive establishments. Marcus ordered a brandy. I ordered the largest glass of rioja they’d legally serve.

He barely waited until the server left. “I can’t stay long. I need to get back for Eloise.”

Ovulating, probably. I didn’t ask.

“So what’s this about?” Was the question I had instead.

“I heard you had dinner with Lord Wolfe.”

“Dad arranged it.”

“Yes.” Marcus lifted his glass, the amber catching the low light. “He told me. Eventually.”

I frowned. “So where’s the problem?”

Marcus exhaled, the official brace-yourself breath. “I’m concerned about you.”

That startled me more than it should have. “You are?”

“Yes.” He looked at me as if that were obvious. “Of course. You’re my brother.”

While technically true, what he really meant was: You’re a Hale-Fitzroy, and any stain on you bleeds onto me. His concern was for optics, legacy, integrity of name. Not my bruisable body or complicated heart.

“It was a business dinner.” I thanked the server as they set my wine down. I took a greedy sip. God, that hit exactly where I needed it.

Marcus didn’t touch his brandy. “Lord Wolfe has a reputation.” He darted his gaze around the restaurant to see if anyone was listening. “Not the public one. The one that moves under the surface. He has… interests. Preferences.”

I tilted my neck. “If you mean he might be interested in more than my legal mind and surname, I’m not that naïve, Marcus. I’m fully aware. I’ve been on the receiving end of his lecherous gazing at me for a while now. It isn’t subtle. And whilst I appreciate the warning, I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself.” I took another swig of wine and thought about ordering another. Or a bottle. “You don’t need to suddenly play the protective older brother.”

Marcus didn’t look dismissive. Or irritated. Or self-righteous. And for the first time in a long time, I saw a resemblance of genuine concern underneath all the Hale-Fitzroy polish.

It was almost enough to unsettle me.

Almost.

“He’s noticed you, Tristan.” Marcus knocked back some brandy. “And that makes me… uneasy. Especially if Dad is encouraging it. I’m not convinced he knows everything I know about him.”

A cold ripple slid through me. I leant back, the chair suddenly too stiff, the room too warm. “Marcus, nothing happened. He barely said five words to me before—”

Before he was escorted out the back door and I let Razor fuck me senseless in a broom cupboard.

I didn’t say that. Obviously.

“…before he had to leave,” I finished instead.

Marcus watched me closely. As if he could smell the truth on my skin.

“He didn’t have to leave, Tris. This is Lord Wolfe.” Marcus leant forward. “He orchestrates optics for a living. Every room, every handshake, every photograph. If he walks into a restaurant, it’s because he wants to be seen there.”

I forced my expression to stay blank. “And?”