CHAPTER 1
Addler
Despite the seven-figure wire transfer I authorized for Kelly Oil & Gas; I can’t bring myself to offer Simon Kelly a handshake to seal the deal.
I negotiated the purchase of Kelly Oil’s construction division with Keith Kelly, Simon’s father, in the privacy of his office. If the old man hadn’t had a massive heart attack, he’d be here today, and I’d be inviting him for a drink at the nearest bar.
Instead, Simon scheduled us in an impersonal conference room, surrounded by stark art done in geometric patterns with bold colors. The stiff leather chairs are meant to make the occupant uncomfortable during a dressing down or hard-nosed negotiations. Definitely not the same vibe I had with Keith.
As soon as I finish signing, Simon’s cell rings. He looks down that too-perfect nose of his at the phone, taps the screen, then turns away to take the call. I scoff. He doesn’t have the balls to flat out-refuse to face me. Not like I would have the same problem.
Lydia Evans, my high-powered, overpriced attorney, addresses their in-house counsel. “We need to leave. Mr. de Marco has a plane to catch.” She gathers the document, slipping it into her briefcase during the announcement. The snap on the closure signals the end of the meeting.
“Of course.” The older man glances toward the end of the long conference table, doing his best to keep a neutral expression. Meanwhile, Simon continues on his cell, standing with his back to us. He’s a perfect example of how all the money in the world doesn’t breed class or manners.
“Give my regards to Keith.” The finality in my tone should be enough to let him know I’m not sticking around for the entitled son of a bitch to finish his call. With that, I turn to the exit, not giving them the opportunity to sideline us. I reach for the door handle, pulling open the heavy, polished wood.
Simon’s assistant’s standing nearby. Her gaze snaps to mine, then she jerks her hand up, bringing her phone to her chest. She remains rooted in place, her lips parted, as if she intended to say something, but no words came out. Instead, she turns on her heel and heads away. Not suspicious, not suspicious at all.
Lydia takes a few quick steps and walks past me into the hall. I lead her toward the exit, not bothering to go down to sign out at the main floor. The receptionist will eventually figure out we left. Lydia will bill me several times what she’ll pay for parking, even at Houston prices, and life will go on.
We continue toward the bank of elevators in silence. “Well, that was convenient,” she says under her breath as we exit through the glass doors.
“More like a well-timed distraction,” I reply, pushing the call button on the brushed brass plate. Lydia tightens her grip on the briefcase handle, as if she’s stressed, which seems out of character. One reason I keep her on retainer is because she’s strictly business, always cool, calm, and collected. The fact she’s twitchy tells me something’s up.
The doors glide to the left, opening with barely a sound. She enters first, moves to the corner, and waits for me to follow.
We went through the whole the client-goes-first versus ladies first a long time ago. I won that round by making it clear her firm could either deal with the way I do things, or I’d toss her ass to the curb and find someone else willing to manage a multibillion-dollar business.
I press the button for the fifth-floor parking garage. She doesn’t touch the panel, although I know we’re not parked on the same floor. The doors glide closed, and I can almost feel her needing to speak. While I could flat-out ask what’s on her mind, I don’t. It’s not that kind of relationship. If she has something to say, she can damn well say it.
The reflection in the elevator’s polished steel walls shows her swallowing hard, her grip tightening on the briefcase she’s holding onto like a lifeline. Here it comes…
“Um, I…have a client,” she starts in the same low tone she used in the hallway. “A friend, really.” A nervous smile flashes across her lips. “Who’s asking about a certain group—”
I bring my hand up, silencing her. This conversation is better left for another time. I’m not about to have a discussion that can lead to dubious situations while we’re standing in a corporate elevator.
She closes her mouth, somewhere between relieved and unsure. I glance up at the tinted glass dome sitting in the upper corner. The security camera hidden there would record every word said between us, which could always come back to haunt me. She follows my line of sight then returns to staring at her reflection. “Seriously…” she says under her breath then clenches her jaw.
Well, what do you know, Ms. Lydia isn’t as perfect as she believes herself to be. She’s still green about some of the less-savory side of business dealings, something I’ve grown up with. Though people can speculate all they want, proving anything is another matter.
“We’ll continue this discussion later.”
Her shoulders relax. “I appreciate that.”
The fact she’s meticulous with legalities will keep me from walking away—this time. Most importantly, she checked out as being legit. We’ve never discussed anything outside the scope of my business, so it surprises me she would ask a question for a friend, someone close, by the smile she let slip. The very fact she’s leading into something that’s not work related is what has her all uptight.
If she was a man, I’d suggest he get laid. Being who she is, that’s not going to happen. She’d keep the bow at the neck of that silk blouse tightly bound. Though that has made me wonder about the woman under the severe exterior…
The elevator arrives on the fifth floor. The moment the doors open, we’re blasted by the heat of the day. Houston is always humid since the city sits alongside the Gulf of Mexico. I hold the door, and it’s only a fraction of a second before she realizes I mean for her to follow.
The sound of traffic and construction flow through, thanks to the outer walls of the parking lot ending four feet off the floor. It should work well for the conversation she means to have.
As we approach my truck, I press the button for the remote start, bringing the engine to life. I glance around and confirm the surrounding vehicles are the same that were here when I arrived. While there’s a camera keeping watch, the noise from the V8 should take care of masking anything we say.
I turn to her. “You want something for your friend, I assume someone close, or we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
She parts her lips, struggling for words now that she has my full attention. “Yes.” Finally. “Apparently there’s a group…he’s been invited to work with,” she explains, catching on to how she should address the situation.