Me: You know where to shove it.
Trent: That attitude will not get you an answer. Or a hot date.
Why are all my friends intolerable?
Me: What is this?
Trent: Nope, still not satisfied.
Me: Please don’t make me kill you.
Trent: Tell me where you got it, and maybe I’ll answer you.
He is having way too much fun with this. But he’s the only one who will know.
Me: I got it from a grave.
Trent: Wow, stealing from a grave. Just when I thought you couldn’t get any morally more corrupt . . .
Me: I aim to please.
Trent: Nope. Okay, here is what I got. Your little flower is called a spring crocus. Aka penitent’s rose. Whoever’s flower you stole, is asking for forgiveness. This is low even for you, Tobias.
Penitent’s rose.
Who did you hurt, Skye? She’s hiding something, and I’ll find out what. I know exactly how to find out.
One call is all it will take. Still parked, I text Gideon, asking for Seth Williams’s number.
A minute later, my phone is chiming with an incoming text. Glancing down, I see Gideon has shared the contact information with me.
I hit the button, then lift my gaze back to the street ahead, and pull out of the parking spot. The phone rings twice before he answers.
“Seth Williams here.” He even sounds like a douche.
“Seth, this is Tobias Kosta.”
“Mr. Kosta,” he drawls out, his voice tinged with curiosity and, dare I say, excitement. “How can I help you?”
“I want to meet with you. Tomorrow. Eight o’clock in the morning.”
“To what do I owe this surprise meeting?”
“I will fill you in on all the details tomorrow.” I can’t show all my cards too soon.
And then, without letting him get a word in edgewise, I hang up the line.
The next morning, I’m striding into the office like I own the place, heading straight for the receptionist.
“Mr. Williams is expecting me,” I tell the mousy little thing behind the desk.
“O-Of course, Mr. Kosta,” she stutters, and she stands abruptly, hands shaking, wobbling on her feet, clearly frazzled by my presence. “Follow me, sir.” Her right arm lifts, her hand pointing in the direction she wishes me to go. I follow her through the glass doors, down a long bright hallway, and then through another set of doors.
The office is more traditional than mine. Sure, he also has large windows that look out into the city, but where my space is minimalistic, his screams of vanity. Awards. Plaques. A constant reminder of why he should be charging the big bucks.
Seth Williams sits behind a large wooden desk that almost takes up the whole room. Gold plated, it’s over the top, but I guess if you are trying to convince clients like me to give you a million-dollar retainer to secure your services, this is the look you go for.
I already fucking hate this idiot, but he’s a means to an end.
He’s my way in.
“Mr. Kosta.” He stands, crosses the space between us, and raises his hand to shake mine. Once that’s taken care of, he gestures for me to have a seat. “What can I do for you?” Making his way to his chair, he pulls it out and takes a seat. I follow suit.
Leaning back, I cross my arms in front of my chest. “I’m interested in some help with a few legal matters,” I lead, dropping the bait and letting him eat that shit up.
He nods. “Luckily for you, that’s our expertise.”
Hook, line, and sinker.
I lean forward, cock my head, and stare at the man. “I’m particular on who works with me.”
“Of course. I will make sure—” he starts to say, but I stop him in his tracks.
“I want Skye Matthews.”
That’s a Freudian slip if I ever heard one.
“With all due respect to Skye, who is an absolute rising star in the firm, she’s a newer associate. I can find someone better suited for your needs and the scope of the work.” His condescending voice has my teeth gritting together.
“Ms. Matthews. Or I walk right out that door, hire her directly, and you don’t get a fucking cut.”
“Mr. Kosta—”
Shaking my head, I look at him the way a parent would scold their child. Right before they sent them to their room with no dinner or, in his case, with a belt to the ass.
“Price? What’s your price to get you to shut the fuck up?”
His mouth opens and closes. Good, I shocked the idiot into silence. He rights himself quickly, straightening his back and puffing out his chest. He cut the theatrics, so I still know he’s scared of me. “I need to check her billable—”
“Double it.”
“Tobias.” He lifts his hand up. “May I call you Tobias?”
“No,” I say in a deadpan. “Though if your answer is yes, I may tolerate it.” Normally, I don’t smile, but this time, I allow my lip to tilt up. A sardonic grin. One that tells him not to fuck with me. Not to object and just give me what I want.