Chapter 25 #2
I hate the way her slight flush fades, the tremulous smile on her mouth disappearing behind her familiar professional mask as she scans the article.
On the other hand, I’m grateful that despite the shattering plane ride and a long night after it spent twined in my bedsheets, we seem at least able to function in a work environment.
Well, so long as I don’t allow my eyes to linger on the length of exposed thigh beneath her dress. Or on her lips, which are still noticeably swollen.
Let’s face it. We’re safe so long as I keep an entire table between her and me and try not to think about how soon I plan to rip her clothes off again.
“According to sources in the Port Authority,” she quotes, “the incident at Avonmouth was the result of criminal elements from the darkest corners of London’s underworld smuggling women in for”—her face darkens, and she throws the tablet across the table—“the twisted games of the elite,” she breathes, shaking her head.
Her eyes glitter dangerously. “They do everything but name me outright. The clear implication is that Sophie’s House is just a front for a human trafficking operation, the women then used as sex slaves in my clubs. ”
I nod. “But there’s no point in reacting.”
Her eyes narrow, and I smile inwardly, knowing exactly where her head is going. “Don’t think I’m not also tempted to take a knife to the balls of the bastard who wrote the piece.” I lean up against the table, folding my arms to suppress the urge to touch her.
Her head jerks up, her whole body tensing, but when she sees my face, her own relaxes. “I want to kill them,” she says honestly. “Every person who repeats this utter bullshit—I want to murder them.”
“I understand that,” I say calmly. “But murder can come later. For now, the Daily Truth is convinced you’re the villain of the story. We need to make them understand that we’re on the same side—and that the villain is someone else entirely.”
Zinaida meets my eyes. “And who would that be, exactly?” Her voice is even, her face composed, but I don’t miss her clenched fingers and pale skin.
When I get to the bottom of this, I think coldly, blood is going to spill.
But that will come. For now, this is a dangerous game—one I plan to fucking win.
“Lowbridge.” I take the tablet and tap on a file containing a series of photographs I took of the vans at Avonmouth.
“The vans that were used to transport the women belong to Minos, a small goods company based in Gloucestershire.” I zoom in on the bull’s head logo on the side of the vans.
“Minos imports delicatessen products from all over the world: cheese from France, prosciutto from Italy, coffee from Colombia. The company supplies high-class food stores, from Harrods to Waitrose.”
Zin frowns at the photographs. “What does Lowbridge have to do with Minos? His company is software based. And surely he can’t run an import company, given his role in government?”
“He doesn’t.” I bring up the business license. “Minos is owned by a toad called Bogdan Kozlov. I don’t have a photograph of him, unfortunately. Kozlov is quite the elusive figure. I’ve put Paddy on the case of tracking him down.”
She taps the table impatiently. “If there’s no connection between Lowbridge and Minos, why are you trying to make him the Daily Truth’s target?”
“Ah.” I grin at her. “This is where it gets interesting. Guess who installed the security system at Avonmouth Docks?”
Zin’s eyes widen. “You’re kidding. That was Lowbridge?”
“Yup.” I nod. “And not just Avonmouth. Lowbridge Inc. won the government contract to do port security throughout the entire United Kingdom, which is worth billions. Now Lowbridge Inc. is bidding for similar contracts all over Europe. The company can’t afford to look incompetent.”
Zinaida sits back in her chair, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “So you think Simon Lowbridge is leaking the stories about me to distract the media from focusing on the failings of his own systems?”
“I do. It’s a smart move, too. So long as the questions in Parliament focus on your clubs and Sophie’s House, nobody is looking at Lowbridge’s clear conflict of interest or his company’s failure to adequately do the job the government has paid it billions to do.
And he’s smart enough to know that Elite Sex Parties is a much better headline than Security Failure. ”
“So you think we should use the Daily Truth to change the narrative.” Zin frowns, clearly thinking it through. “Shift the focus to Lowbridge Inc.’s failure to curb the problems at Avonmouth and imply that they’re behind the trafficking?”
“Exactly. And while the media is looking at Lowbridge Inc., we go after this Kozlov piece of shit—and find out who in your organization has been leaking information to him. If we’re going to get to the bottom of this, not to mention deal with Kozlov in the way he deserves, then the last thing we want is for the Daily Truth to be sniffing around the same target.
Far better that we turn their paps loose on Lowbridge.
Kill two birds with one stone: put a stop to Kozlov, as well as put an extremely destructive bomb under our friend Lowbridge.
And it’s a win for the tabloids. The combination of corrupt government contracts, cover-ups, and sex trafficking is every bit as juicy as an elite underworld club. ”
Zin looks at me across the table with a rather curious expression. “You’ve worked all this out since Avonmouth?” She scrutinizes my face. “How did you put it together? I thought Niamh said her people didn’t get clear images.”
“They’re my images.” I grin at her. “I haven’t shared them with Niamh or her team, by the way.
As for working it out, that’s what I do.
I knew about Lowbridge’s contract and Kozlov before we went to Spain, but I had to wait for Enzo’s date with Lowbridge’s private secretary to confirm that it’s him behind the stories.
Actually, it might be easier if he tells you this part himself.
” I lean over her and press the intercom.
“Enzo. Can you get Mollie to cover the desk and come up here a moment?”
I don’t miss her sharp intake of breath, nor the way she stills as I pass within inches of her.
I also don’t miss the heady rush of her perfume, like an aphrodisiac straight to my fucking brain.
Smart move, Luke.
I straighten up and walk to the coffee machine without looking at her, the noise of grinding beans giving us both the space to recover ourselves before Enzo turns up. If I’m going to be completely honest, I’m more shaken than I want to admit.
I’ve had sex before. I’ve had epic sex before.
I’ve still never had anything that matches that plane ride, or the night that came after it.
Fuck.
I’m half hard even thinking about it.
I inhale the sharp scent of coffee, willing my body under control.
It’s a solid fucking battle. The reality is that I’m grateful for work, just to take my mind off what I plan to do as soon as I have Zinaida alone again.
Because I plan to get her alone again. In about ten hours’ time, if not before.
The machine grinds to a halt. By the time I’ve made our coffees, I’ve gotten myself under control.
Right up until I turn around and find Zinaida watching me.
It’s only for a split second, before the elevator dings and she drops her eyes, but it’s long enough for me to see the storm churning in their depths and feel that strange connection again that hits somewhere deep in the pit of my gut and makes me want to take her like a fucking savage.
Instead I put her coffee down in front of her and take a seat on the windowsill, eyeing her mounting color with a dark kind of masochistic pleasure as Enzo steps into the room.
“Darling.” Enzo beams at me. “If you’re going to pull me away from my desk during peak hour, I expect favors. Or at least some delicious gossip.”
“I figured.” I grin at him. “I’ll come up with something, I promise.”
He wags his finger at me. “I’m holding you to that.”
I nod at Zinaida. “Tell Zin what you told me about your little friend Andrew.”
“Oh, not so little, darling.” Enzo taps me playfully on the arm, and I roll my eyes, though I’m still smiling. He’s incorrigible.
“So.” Enzo turns back to Zin, abruptly entirely business focused.
“Andrew’s boss has been giving him stories about you to feed to the pond scum at the Daily Truth.
” He says the tabloid name with distinct distaste.
“But since he’s also neglected to give Andrew any evidence to back up the allegations, the DT has begun to get a little pushy. ”
“Does Simon actually have any evidence?” she asks.
“No. Or not that Andrew knows about. He thinks that accusing you of trafficking girls, or killing Georgiy Ivanov, is just Simon’s attempt to coerce you into giving him membership at the Quartier.
In fact,” he says, smiling evilly, “I may have let him believe membership was on the table when I first invited him out.”
“Smart,” I say, glancing at Zin, who is nodding. “Keep letting him think that.”
“He’s actually quite sweet,” Enzo says, tilting his head to one side. “And a much better lay than you’d think. It’s always the quiet ones.”
“Christ.” I shake my head. “This is where you leave me.”
“Oh, darling.” Enzo gives me a very lewd wink. “You don’t know what you’re missing.” He blows us a kiss as he closes the door, leaving Zin and me both laughing.
“So.” She taps her fingers on the table, frowning at the closed door. “You think we play Lowbridge for now, until we know more about what is going on with Kozlov?”
I nod. “We know there’s a connection between Lowbridge Inc.’s security failures and the trafficked women. And we know that Lowbridge is trying to cover that up by pointing the finger at you. What we still don’t know is who he has inside your operation.”