19. Tristan
Tristan
Luis keeps his hands on the wheel, eyes facing forward. He didn’t even crack a joke when we arrived downstairs.
Best case scenario, he’s upset I crashed his opportunity to prove himself. If that’s the case, I’ll have to come up with a way to prove it wasn’t that I doubted him. It’s just I’m coming to learn I have absolutely no control when it comes to Isolde.
Isolde, who is scooted all the way to the other side of the car, her face nearly flat against the window.
I’m afraid this might also be why Luis is laser focused on traffic instead of his usual nonchalant attitude toward driving.
The tension is thicker than when Roman Zimin would show up at Ren’s place. We all knew what was going on. They were fucking, and feelings were involved.
I don’t like gossip, and my cousin is a nosy motherfucker. Which means it’s only a matter of time before people start talking.
I close my eyes briefly, the car swaying.
Why the fuck did I wake Isolde up by fucking her with a butt plug?
It’s useless pretending like I don’t want to fuck her. It’s painfully obvious I do.
After last night, after she tiptoed in my room and started talking, I realized we needed to just stop dancing around it. Except now I’m wondering if I went too fast, too hard.
I should have paused to talk to her before shoving my fingers up her ass.
Her hips had rocked back, though, her moans making me hard. She’d cried out and leaned into me when I kissed her this morning.
But now she’s completely, fucking silent.
We’re headed to Fujimori’s, where she’s scheduled for an early lunch meeting with Ben. Ren is going to flip her shit when she hears her best friend and cousin colluded while she was on vacation.
I reach out, lightly touching her thigh. She turns to me, her big blue eyes tired.
And that’s when Luis finally speaks up.
“You okay, Blue?”
She clears her throat, nodding her head.
“Are you?” I quietly ask.
“Have you ever wondered about how many times a body rolls into the M.E.’s office and it’s got a butt plug inside it?”
Luis snorts before slapping a hand over his mouth.
“Like, how many dead bodies do they find with stuff inside them?” Isolde goes on. “Tampons, vibrators. They just have to take the stuff out.”
This last sentence carries a questioning inflection, which I don’t respond to.
Luckily, Luis doesn’t read heavily into the subject of sex toys. “You ever watch that documentary about the medical examiner’s office? It was really cool. Made me want to become a doctor.”
“Seriously?” Isolde tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. She wore it down again, and I have to stop myself from reaching out and playing with it.
If we do this, start something up, things have to remain professional.
Luis angles the car along the curb, where he’ll wait for us. Isolde prefers to sneak in through the alley, entering through the kitchen door. I tug her back toward me before she can go inside.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
She twirls a piece of hair around her finger.
“Isolde,” I prod.
Her mouth moves side to side, still being shy.
I run my hand down her arm, grabbing her hand. “Look, I’m sorry about this morning.”
She shakes her head. “It’s not that.”
I tilt her chin up. “Then what is it? No, don’t shake your head.”
She shuffles on her feet instead.
“Are you not into anal?” I ask. I found a shit ton of sex toys in her drawer, but maybe they’d been gag gifts or something.
She lifts on her toes, the truth coming out in a rush. “It’s just if you fuck me there. . . You can’t fuck my pussy right after, okay?”
“What?”
“I’m miserable on antibiotics, okay.” Her cheeks redden. “I’m fine with anal, but you just can’t go from ass to pussy, you know what I’m saying?”
I tuck her hair behind her ear. “Yes, Isolde, I know what you’re saying. I don’t know what fuckers you’ve been with, but I do have some understanding of safe sex practices. I won’t fuck your pussy without cleaning up first. I promise.”
Her head crashes into my chest.
I smooth my hand down her back, my shoulders lighter now. “See, it’s not so bad when you talk about what’s on your mind.”
She mumbles something incoherent against my shirt.
I press a kiss to her forehead, hugging her close. “We’re okay doing this, right?”
Bright blue eyes meet mine. She nods, her face blank but serious.
The door bangs open. Abe crosses his arms and leans against the doorjamb.
Isolde slips from my grasp. “Come sit with me at my meeting.”
She slides around Abe, but he moves a minuscule amount to the right when I try to enter.
“I will fucking kill you,” he says, emulating Darth Vadar.
I clap his shoulder. There’s no way in hell he’d ever make good on that threat, but I understand the warning.
Abe’s dad greets me with a toothy grin. Arriving at Fujimori’s with Isolde is like arriving with a celebrity. Workers shout in greeting, waving at her. She replies to each of them, reminding me of how she interacts with the guys at Leon’s.
“Take this,” Abe’s dad instructs. It’s a bowl of vegetable ramen. Someone else hands her another plate.
“She’s not the staff,” Abe corrects, scooping everything out of Isolde’s hands. “Ben’s already sitting.”
Isolde steps out of the kitchen, where Jane is hustling toward her. I noticed their interactions when I started coming here. Jane treats Isolde like a daughter.
She fusses at her son in Japanese, settling Isolde in Ren’s booth. A second later a Coke is placed on the table.
Abe slams a cup in front of me. “Here’s some water.”
Ben frowns after his boyfriend. He’s got a smattering of paperwork in front of him, his tie tucked back as he eats. “Thank you,” he tells Abe when his coffee cup is filled. “You want any?” he asks, knowing I can always go for a cup of coffee.
Abe turns away. “He’s fine.”
Isolde shoots him a look, which is noticed by Ben, whose furry eyebrows are now glued together.
“What’s going on?” he asks in an easy-going tone. It’s digging none-the-less.
“Abe’s acting like he caught us having sex in the alleyway when it was just a fucking hug.”
Ben chokes on his coffee.
Isolde takes no notice, moving right on to business. “I want the Henderson contract.”
Ben is still dying, his face red as he wipes his mouth with his shirtsleeve. “You shouldn’t even fucking know about that.”
Isolde doesn’t explain where she got the information from. “I want the contract and the Addam’s.”
Ben places his mug down, rubbing his chest. “The Addam’s—”
“Want me,” Isolde says, clasping her hands on the table in front of her. “And I’m going to fulfill the ones that are already on the books.”
I knew she had several because she stays booked, but I want more details. I’m not sitting at the table because I’m the guy fucking her. She knows our schedules are now intertwined.
“Addam’s conflicts with—”
Isolde counteracts Ben. “Harold, yeah.”
“So you planning on doing both hits that night?” Ben asks.
“No,” Isolde says. “But you’re going to leak that I got the Harold contract still.”
Leaks in our line of work are deadly.
“In reality, who will take the Harold contract?” Ben asks.
“Leo.”
Ben snorts. I’m inclined to agree. Leo is just a kid.
“He’s not ready for that,” Ben says.
“Yeah, he fucking is,” Isolde replies.
“So everyone thinks you’re focusing on Harold when in reality you’re taking on a contract worth triple,” I say.
“Yes.”
Ben rubs his mouth again. Ren’s been gone over a week and he looks tired. “Ren doesn’t even want you working.”
She picks up her chopsticks, beginning to eat. “Ren’s not going to like it when I go straight to Addam’s.”
“That’s an empty threat,” Ben calls her out.
She’s scarfing food down when she motions at Ben to pass over the black planner in front of him. Ren’s schedule. No one should have access to it. Ben slides it over.
She flips through it. There’s nothing incriminating. Doodles and doctor’s appointments. But Isolde knows what she’s looking at.
“Ren let you have that, or did you steal it from her apartment?” I ask him.
Ben smirks.
Isolde taps at one of the appointments. “Todd will fuck that up.”
“Todd is cozy with the client,” Ben replies.
“Call the client and tell them they deserve better,” Isolde says. She offers me her bowl of ramen.
Ben stares wide-eyed at us as we eat.
“Todd’s got the Feds sniffing around him,” Isolde says.
Ben rubs his face. “You’re not fucking seri—”
“Mirabell wants more,” she says. “She’s thinking about making a break and going overseas. Be a pity if someone so professional left.”
Ben picks up his coffee. “How do you know about the Feds?”
“I know about the Feds,” she says, not giving up her source. Since it’s Isolde, Ben takes her word for gold.
“Why don’t you come work for us?” he asks.
“This again?” Isolde chews her food.
“Can you blame me? You come sweeping in here acting like HR.”
She makes a face.
“More like a union rep,” I say. “Though, the tip about the Feds is a good one.”
I assume it came from the Hallows, but it doesn’t rile me. No one, and I mean no one, likes it when the Feds show up.
“Why are you going after all these contracts?” Ben asks.
She pauses to take a drink. “I want the money.”
Disbelief mars Ben’s face as he leans forward. “We can match your salary, Isolde. We could double it.”
She goes back to her food, eating like she hasn’t in hours. Which, now that I think about it, she’s only been picking at the last few meals she’s had.
“What do you even do with all of your money?” Ben asks.
Abe comes out of the kitchen and rolls his eyes when he sets a platter of sushi in front of me.
“I’m serious, Isolde,” Ben says with a touch of brotherly exasperation.
“Isn’t it rude to talk about money?” Isolde says.
“When you said you wanted to talk, I assumed you came because you wanted a distraction.”
She does. It’s why I caught her trying to unalive that man last night. But Isolde’s come in here with a laser focus. The lawyer in Ben is rightly suspicious.
Isolde grabs a California roll.
“I need the money.”
“For what?”
Isolde chews her sushi. With her hair down and fresh-faced, she looks more like a college student than a woman with a years-long career as a triggerman. Ben is clearly frustrated, but all Isolde does is smile.