Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 88182 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88182 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
“Absolutely.”
“No matter what happens.”
She lifts her chin. “What’s that mean?”
“It means what I said. No matter what happens, you won’t deviate from the plan. You’re the data girl. You talk numbers. Otherwise, you remain at the table and sit quietly, not drawing attention to yourself. That’s for your own protection, not some sexist bullshit.”
“I know, you’ve explained a thousand times.” She worried at her lip, but kisses my neck. “It’ll be great. And, you know, if it’ll help to relax you and we have time—“ Her mouth moves up toward mine.
The doorbell rings. I grunt in frustration. “As much as I’d love to hike that dress up and fuck you until you’re a gooey mess, I think that’s for me.”
She pouts as I leave the room. Down the steps and to the door. I hesitate, looking through the peephole, and almost laugh: Ricardo’s on my stoop looking sweaty and uncomfortable. He reaches for the bell but I open before he can press it.
“I was expecting a phone call, not a warm body.”
Ricardo’s smile is deeply pained. “You know how these things go. My boss doesn’t trust the phone.”
“That’s probably smart.”
“And a massive pain in the ass. Are you ready?”
“Tell me where to go.”
Ricardo shakes his head. “Not how it works. My car’s waiting. I’m driving.”
“I was told I’d be given the location. I already called my driver.”
“That’s the problem, you involve too many outside people. Bad enough you’re bringing your wife.” Ricardo scowls like I’m tainting his boys-only club. “It’s my car or not at all. Decide now. My employer hates when I’m late.”
My jaw sets. This isn’t right. Already the plan’s getting altered. We’re supposed to have the car waiting and ready in case we need a quick escape, but if I’m trapped with Ricardo as my way home—
Fucking hell, that increases the risk to Deanna.
“Is everything okay?” She descends the steps and appears by my side. Her face brightens. “Ricardo! Wonderful! How are you? Would you like a drink? Please, come in—“
“I appreciate the offer, Deanna, but I’m only here as your chauffeur. Last chance.”
“He’s our ride?” Deanna looks at me quizzically. “What are we waiting for? I’ll fetch my coat and the documents.”
She turns to leave. I catch her wrist, stepping to the side so the door blocks my expression. I give her a look I hope she’ll understand: this is deeply fucked already, but she only smiles back like this is no big deal.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be quick.” She leans in and kisses my cheek before hurrying off.
“Good woman, that one.” Ricardo seems more at ease. “If it were my wife, we’d be stuck waiting for hours.”
I don’t bother to reply. We stand in awkward silence on the threshold to my home and all I want to do is call this off. It was bad enough before, but now it’s downright suicide. If we go there and have no escape plan, no way to run if everything goes sideways—
“Ready, gentlemen?” Deanna takes my arm and tugs me after Ricardo.
Fuck, this is happening.
We climb into a BMW. I take the passenger seat and Deanna gets in the back. Ricardo drives, grimly trying to make small talk. Deanna answers him which saves me from having to say anything. Instead, I concentrate on our route, a meandering series of turns that spirals away from south Philly and up toward the north, past Girard, past Temple University and Diamond, into the upper half of the city. I’m surprised when Ricardo parks outside of an old Victorian home on the edge of La Salle University’s campus, the sort of place that would usually be home to a half-assed frat.
“I leave you here.” Ricardo rolls down a window and produces a cigar.
“You’re not coming in?” Deanna sounds like she’s genuinely disappointed. “We’ll miss you.”
“I doubt that very much, but thank you all the same.” He leans back in his seat, lighting his smoke, puffing gray haze.
I slip my hand into Deanna’s as we ascend the steps toward the large front door. It’s strange, leaving Ricardo behind. I knew he was low-level, but still, we’re entering a place even he’s not allowed to go. The porch is clean, the floorboards newly varnished. It’s a beautiful example of the style: a peaked roof, bulging windows, freshly painted green accents. I touch Deanna’s back as I ring the bell and wait.
“Last chance to back out,” I murmur, leaning down to kiss her neck.
She shivers under my touch. “And miss the fun?” Her face lights up as the door opens. “Hello, Mr. Carbone. It’s nice to see you.”
Carbone looks over our shoulder toward the street. He seems satisfied and steps aside with a gesture. “Come inside. We’re waiting.”
The interior of the house is cool and spacious. There isn’t much in the way of furniture. It feels like it was staged by a realtor. Everything has that temporary, faux-expensive glaze to it, but looking closer I notice the wear to the tables, the dust on their surfaces.