11. Chapter 11
Chapter 11
L una
Setting his glass down on the table, Roman folded his arms. “Speaking of Heath, I meant what I said about not getting involved with someone while you’re interning with me.”
I pointed my finger at him. “You had to bring that up again, didn’t you? I’ve never done that.”
He scoffed. “What about Ray and Rick at Diego’s garage? And there was Cameron, and now Heath.”
Everyone stood in the dining room, watching us with wide eyes, Fenn grinning like he enjoyed the drama. This was not the time or place for this, so I sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. I reminded myself that I was not going to let this fucker get to me. “You’re wrong. Trying to be a decent, reasonable person isn’t flirting. It also beats the hell out of being paranoid and rude.”
I gave him the silent treatment during dinner. We spent the rest of the afternoon watching football and then played a few hands of poker. I’d said less than five words to him since he’d accused me of flirting.
Roman glanced at me a few times, then finally sighed and put his cards down. “It’s Thanksgiving. Let’s call a truce and enjoy what’s left of the day.”
Ezra nudged my foot under the table, so I set my own cards down and turned to him. “Alright. But if you blame me for something like that again, I swear to you that by the time my internship ends, you’ll think I’ve gone mute.”
He studied my face, his lip tipping up. “Understood.”
Fenn sighed long and loud. “Now that you’ve kissed and made up, can we finish the game?”
When we walked into the offices together the following week, I realized with a start I actually enjoyed coming to work here. Roman still acted like a prick most days, but I liked discussing odd topics with the partners around Gideon’s desk, and they were entertaining, enlightening, and fun to tease. Sometimes I fired off a million random questions just to irritate them. Ivan was still on my shit list, though.
One afternoon, he cornered me by the coffee machine. “Roman mentioned you’re interested in water law. Why?”
I stared at him. “Why do you want to know?”
“I’m curious, which is something you should understand.”
Nodding, I leaned against the break room counter. “My uncle Alistair on my father’s side owns a national wastewater management company. Unfortunately, he has the morals of a snake, just like the rest of his family.”
His gaze went sharp. “What do you mean?”
There was no need to share my father’s sordid past, but I could tell him about my uncle. “Alistair’s company dumped millions of gallons of chromium-tainted wastewater into unlined ponds, and his company was fined a fraction of their net revenue. That’s just one example.”
“What about your dad?”
The same old shame and anger slid through me, and I turned to the coffee pot. “My father has been taking bribes most of his career. God and the devil only know what else he’s been involved in.”
Ivan leaned against the counter and crossed his arms. “Luna, what happened when you were young?”
“You already know,” I answered quietly.
“Not from your perspective.”
Turning around, I faced him. “I was too young and naive to be careful. He’d sometimes leave screens up on his computer showing vast sums of money in various accounts. I was curious about how a judge could have accumulated that much money, and eventually I cross-hatched the dates to a few key rulings in his court.”
“Well, shit.”
“You could say that.”
“What happened?” he asked.
“I didn’t understand the ramifications of confronting him. I figured the facts out, but the nuances escaped me.” I glanced at him. “You have an idea of what happened. You already threw it in my face. Anyway.” I turned to leave.
“Why is water law so fascinating to you?”
He seemed sincere, so I stopped and turned. “The economic value of water in the United States alone is around sixty trillion dollars. People kill for it, steal it, and die without it. Water rights in the Western States are especially critical, but water law is beyond complicated.”
Glancing over, I noticed Roman standing in the doorway. I wondered how long he’d been there.
Ivan blew out a breath. “Fuck. That’s about six times the annual federal U.S. budget.”
I nodded. “And think about it. Whoever controls water also controls agriculture, industry, and development. And there are futures, trading, investments—even water banks.”
“Water banks?” Ivan asked.
“Yes. You’ve heard of oil reserves. They do it with water too. Anyway, I think explains it."
Ivan straightened and glanced at Roman. “She’s teaching us now.” He walked past me and patted my shoulder.
My conversation with Ivan had torn open old wounds, and on the drive home, I sat quietly, looking out the window. Slipping a package of Hot Tamales out of my backpack, I ate a couple and turned to Roman. “You want any?”
He shook his head. “I like the smell, but cinnamon candy is for people who hate their tastebuds.” He glanced at me. “What’s your problem? You haven’t asked me anything, and usually you’re about ten questions in before we leave the parking garage.”
“You’re hilarious.” I sighed. “Ivan brought up a few ghosts.”
“What do you mean?”
“My biological family is… a bad topic for me.”
He glanced at my profile. “And?” He prodded.
I didn’t trust Roman not to throw in my face whatever he learned about me, and it’d be a cold day in hell before I told him what my father had done, so I changed the subject. “In case anything comes up last-minute this weekend, I’m working a funeral tomorrow, and we have funeral parlor brunch poker on Sunday morning.”
“What’s funeral parlor brunch poker?”
“Once a month on a Sunday, Ezra holds an unofficial poker tournament at Palm Desert, and we have a potluck brunch to go along with it. It’s a great marketing tool, and it’s usually a lot of fun.”
“Who comes?” he asked.
“Mostly our friends and neighbors, and a few people from the community.”
We pulled up to my apartment, and Roman turned to me. “Sounds interesting.”
I smirked at his dry tone. “See you on Tuesday. I’d tell you to have a good weekend, but your weekends probably involve drinking blood and animal sacrifices.” He shook his head as I got out. At least he hadn’t come up to “use the bathroom” this time.
At the funeral on Saturday morning, I did a double take when I noticed Sasha and Misty from Euphoria walking into the funeral home together. They were both fully clothed and didn’t have as much makeup on, but Misty still wore a sparkly dress. Breaking from my usual position at the chapel door, I went over to say hello. Misty spotted me first and elbowed Sasha.
“Hi,” I said in a hushed voice. “I don’t know if you remember me. I’m so sorry for your loss and I wanted to–”
Misty leaned in and hugged me, and Sasha followed suit. My parents never hugged or touched me, and I didn’t know exactly where to put my hands, or how long to hug. It always felt painfully awkward unless it was one of the Spades or Alexa.
“We remember you. You’re Luna, Roman Fowler’s intern.” Misty pointed to the front of the funeral chapel where an older deceased woman had been laid out in a pink pearlescent casket. “Ms. Maybell is my aunt.”
Sasha looked at my gold nametag. “Do you work here?”
“Sometimes. I live here too.”
They both stared at me, then Sasha started grinning. “You’re messing with us, right?”
“No.” Turning, I pointed to Sylvie and Alexa, both standing by the chapel doors, dressed in black with the same gold nametags. “Those are my roommates, and we live in the apartment above the mortuary.”
“Girl, that’s creepy-cool,” Sasha whisper-hissed with a big grin.
I made a split-second decision. “Listen, tomorrow we’re having our monthly poker brunch at the funeral home here. It starts at eleven and it’s pretty laid-back. If you want to come, just let me know. We do a potluck brunch with mimosas, then have a poker tournament. It only lasts a couple of hours, but it’s a lot of fun and the food is always good.”
They stared at each other for a second, then grinned. “Fuck, yes,” Misty squealed.
An older man shushed us, and I motioned to my spot by the chapel door. “I need to get back, but I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
On Sunday morning, Sylvie and I set up the tables and chairs and laid out the tablecloths, face cards, and poker chips. Ezra had baked a large cheesy breakfast casserole, and Sylvie and I whipped up a big green salad and thick brownies.
Then we pulled out the champagne and orange juice and mixed up a few mimosas. When Sasha and Misty arrived, the party was in full swing with a mixture of people from the neighborhood, including Sophia and the cooks from Luigi’s.
Sasha looked around. “It seems so cheerful and bright in here today.”
I grinned. “Not having a dead body, sad mourners, and heavy organ music helps. Come meet everyone, and let’s get a mimosa.”
A few hours later, Sylvie and I waved as Misty and Sasha stumbled into a ride share, drunk and giggling. We looked at each other and started laughing.
“Damn, their stripper stories are funny as shit,” Sylvie muttered.
“Did we really agree to take pole dancing lessons?” I asked.
“Yep, I think we did. You wouldn’t shut up, and we might still be a little buzzed.” She wasn’t wrong.
Ezra invited us to dinner on Monday night, and all the cousins were there. I sighed when Fenn and Declan started in about Roman before we’d even dished up our plates.
“You seem to spend a lot of time with your mentor. Is there something you want to tell us?” Declan asked mildly while he dished up several helpings of lasagna.
Sylvie pointed her fork at him. “Hey, Porky Pig. Save some for us.”
“Here, have some garlic bread.” Fenn tossed a piece of bread on her plate. “Yeah, Lou. What the fuck’s going on, and why’d he sound like a jealous boyfriend at Thanksgiving?”
My back went up. “He didn’t sound like a jealous boyfriend, and it’s not like I wanted to do my internship with him, okay?”
Declan finally passed the lasagna. “I’ve never heard of an attorney picking up their intern and driving them to work. You sure nothing’s going on?”
Kilian dished himself some salad and shook his head. “Leave her alone, it’s none of our business.”
My heart warmed at him defending me. “Thank you, Kilian.”
He kept going. “If she wants to get involved with her mentor, she’s old enough to clean up her own fuckups now.”
I sighed and took the salad bowl from him. Protesting my innocence wouldn’t do any good; I just needed to ride it out and wait until they changed the subject.
Fenn nodded. “Why is it you and Sylvie are always up to your eyeballs in trouble, and it always turns into a big fucking mess?”
“We are not, asshole. You’re the one sitting there with a black eye and a split lip,” Sylvie retorted.
“Yeah, but my messes usually don’t require a full clean-up crew and new paint and carpet.”
Callum winced. “That was disgusting, I didn’t know a head could explode that way.”
I set my fork down and sighed. “I was only fourteen, okay? It’s been over ten years, and you guys still throw that in my face.”
Sylvie nodded. “It’s not like we ask for it, and you can’t blame us since you’re the ones who taught us how to shoot.”
Fenn grimaced. “Yeah, but I didn’t know you were going to shoot a man in the gut and splatter his head against your bedroom wall. It was a fucking mess–no drop sheet, no clean kill, no exit strategy.”
Alexa set her fork down and pushed her plate back. “Maybe you could wait until after we eat our lasagna to take this trip down memory lane.”
Ezra reached over and patted her hand. “Unfortunately, they have the manners of troglodytes.”
Sylvie glared at Fenn. “Well, she didn’t know how to make a clean kill back then, and I didn’t have access to a cremator.”
“True. That has come in handy a few times,” he admitted.
My father sent a hitman to kill me when I was fourteen years old. I should have seen it coming, and I didn’t know for certain, but I thought it was my mother who’d warned me. An envelope with no return address showed up one day containing a scribbled note on the back of a business card for an exclusive hair salon in Phoenix. The note said He took a K out on you. I’d had to google what “K” stood for–it was short for a contract.
Three days later, a man entered my bedroom window at Ezra’s house. When he straightened, I shot him. I’d meant to shoot him in the chest, but hit his groin instead. He’d stumbled and howled in pain before coming after me again. Even though my breath was coming in short gasps, I steadied myself and remembered what Kilian had drilled into me. If you want to incapacitate or kill someone quickly, aim for their head.
The second shot hit true. Blood, bone, and brain matter splatted across the wall behind the dead man. Sylvie ran into my room when she heard the shots, and I clearly remembered the Bart Simpson t-shirt she had on that night. Without his hearing aids in, Ezra had slept through the whole thing so we called Fenn to help us.
When he walked into my room that night and saw the carnage, Fenn had exhaled slowly and put his hands on his hips. “We’re done fucking around here. I don’t care how young you two are, you’re officially part of the House of Spades. Now quit bawling and pull yourselves together, we need to get a cleanup crew in here.”
The hitman had an Assassin’s Creed tattoo on his forearm, which I thought was unoriginal. Fenn casually cut off the man’s arm and prepared a package for my father. He sent the arm and paper copies of bank account statements I’d stolen and delivered them to my parents’ doorstep in Phoenix. My father had apparently gotten the message because he hadn’t tried anything since.
Sylvie and I stared at each other now as we relived that horrible night. “That was…”
“Nothing I ever want to repeat,” I finished. She nodded solemnly.
The only good thing that came from them bringing up that bloody night was the cousins not giving me any more grief about Roman Fowler.
On Tuesday morning, I knocked on Drakos’s open door. When I walked in, he sat with his suit jacket and tie on, staring at his computer screen. His silk tie was a deep lilac today and looked nice against his charcoal suit and light gray dress shirt.
“I have a few questions about tax law.” He might be the smartass of the group, but the man wore his expensive designer suits well. Without waiting for an invitation, I sat.
“Hello, Luminous Luna. Please, come in. Have a seat.” He enjoyed tacking on obnoxious adjectives to my name.
I was already sitting. “Thanks. I will.”
He leaned back. “Tax law is like playing chess with a dull-witted but tenacious opponent.”
“That’s so helpful. I’m ready for my exam now.”
Rolling his eyes, he leaned back. “Hit me. Then I have a few of my own.”
“How would you determine the yearly valuation of a privately held family company?”
He didn’t miss a beat. “There’s either an asset-based or income approach, and you need to take into account devaluation.” Drakos launched into an explanation that made surprising sense, gave me a few examples, and answered a couple of follow-up questions. I sometimes forgot how smart Drakos was under all his cutting, cynical commentary.
“Now, my question for you.” He steepled his fingers. “Sylvie Spade.”
My back shot straight. “What about her?”
“She’s your roommate and best friend. I’ve run into her a few times.”
His mild comment made me think he’d met Sylvie more than just a time or two, and then I remembered Sylvie’s reaction when she’d seen that photo of Roman and his partners. Groaning, I fisted my hands in my hair. “No. No way. You stay away from her.”
“Why?” he snapped, glaring at me. “We just spent the last twenty minutes of my billable time discussing tax law. I’m good enough to get my brain picked but not good enough for your roommate?”
I held my hands up placatingly. “No offense, okay? I’m sure you’re a great guy, if a little sarcastic, rude, and offensive at times. But Sylvie is… singular, and she’s had trauma in her past.”
Drakos’s gaze sharpened. “What kind of trauma?”
I rolled my shoulders and didn't answer. “She might also be a little crazy. Ezra finished raising her with the Spade cousins.”
“Do you think you’re scaring me?” His smile worried me.
“Her dad–how do I explain this? He’s evil. Like Hitler or Caligula evil, and she enjoys taunting him.”
He leaned forward and palmed his desk. “All that makes me want her even more. Tell me about her, you owe me.”
I sighed and threw up my hands. “She’s viciously street-smart and has this wicked humor that can gut you while she’s making you laugh. She’s also a chess player.”
His eyes went sharp. “She plays chess?”
“Do you not know anything about her? She’s won chess tournaments, and she’s good. See? You don’t even know her. You need to–”
“No, and thank you for the information. You can leave now.” He turned back to his computer.
“You should do the right thing and change your mind.” He wasn’t going to change his mind, I knew this when he pointed to his door.
“Fine, asshole. But I’m warning her about you.”
A slow smile spread across his face as he started typing on his laptop. “Good. She’ll know I’m coming.”
“Your firm is aptly named. You’re all fuckers, and we’re not done with this conversation.” I stalked out of his office and ran straight into Roman.