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He sighs a long sigh, one that warrants my hand around his fucking throat the next time I see him. “You sticking with the plan today?”
“Uh-huh,” I say, sliding on a shirt. “On my way to pick up protection payments now. And you?”
“I’ve got a meeting with the Peruvians,” he says, lowering his voice. “Specifically, Qari Chavez. We might have a new supplier by the end of the day.”
I grin at my reflection as I slick back my hair. “Fair play, Antoin. I’d like to be in that meeting.”
He sounds surprised when he says, “Really?”
“You don’t agree that the head of the Quinn family should be meeting with the new potential cocaine supplier for the whole of Boston?”
He laughs down the line. “Of course I fuckin’ do. Just surprised you’re up for it.”
My jaw hardens and my back straightens. Seeing Murphy yesterday lit a fire under my ass. My family isn’t going down and out like him. We will win this war and rise up stronger than ever, even if it means I have to swallow my pride and put down my gun.
“Rearrange it for the afternoon. I’ll call when I’m on the way to the office.”
I stroll over to the window as I’m fastening my cufflinks. Only glass, grass, and cobbled walls stand between me and Poppy Murphy. I wonder what she’s doing, and if I spooked her last night.
The desire to see her burns deep in my stomach. As I make my way into the lobby, I should go straight through the front door and into the waiting Bentley. Instead, my feet make a right, past the dining room and out a side door. A few minutes later, I’m standing outside the locked bedroom door in the Museum.
My key brushes against the lock, then I pause. Instead, I knock. Might as well try and get her on my side right from the jump.
Poppy’s soft voice floats under the door crack. “Come in.”
Her eyes widen when she sees me, the half-eaten croissant hovering mid-air.
“Good, you’re up and dressed,” I say, trying to keep my tone even and brisk. “We’re going out.”
I stride over and take the croissant from her hand and take a big bite. Her wide eyes narrow into disgust. “That’s gross.”
“We were swapping spit last night,” I challenge her, “and now you care that I took a bite of your croissant?”
I love how quick she is to blush. From her plump lips to her rosy cheeks and doe-like eyes, her beautiful face is an open book, every emotion that crosses her heart is mirrored on her expression. “Where are we going?”
“To finish what we started last week.”
Poppy thinks for a moment, before a scowl darkens her pretty features. “Oh, hell no.”
“Hell yes, Miss Murphy.” When she stalks back to the window and turns her scowl towards the garden and beyond, I soften my approach. “No deaths this time. I promise.”
Nothing.
“Hey,” I murmur, closing the gap between us and touching her arm. Goosebumps ripple up her soft skin as a reaction to my fingertips. “I could really use your help. You have a great eye for bullshit. And like I said, I promise it’ll be a lot less gruesome this time.”
She lets out something of a grunt. “And if I say no?”
“Not an option.”
A pause. “Fine. Only, try not to point a gun at me this time.”
With another huff, she pushes past me and into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind her.
I sink down on the bed, running my hands over the fine Egyptian sheets. One of her long, copper hairs tangles around my thumb and forefinger. As I scan the rest of the room, I see my reflection in the mirror and my expression catches me off guard. It’s deranged. My lips are stretched wide across my cheeks, my eyes small and squinty.
I’m smiling.
I rearrange my features and throw in my signature scowl for good measure before Poppy emerges from the bathroom, bringing a fresh wave of vanilla and bubblegum with her.
