Two
Devon
“You alright there, Devon?” Wes asks, his deep, husky voice grating on me. “You’re looking particularly murdery tonight.”
“Wes…” Emma warns.
He just smirks and leans back in his seat, his arms slung over the chairs on either side of him so that the t-shirt he’s wearing—a white one with The Jam’s Sound Affects album cover on it—stretches tightly across the thick muscles of his biceps and chest.
I purse my lips in annoyance and glance away. Just for once could he not simply have dressed for the occasion instead of looking like a washed-up rockstar?
I honestly don’t even know how Wes fits in with the rest of the Holts.
He’s such an oddity. Emma and her parents are all so poised and sophisticated and…
well-groomed. But Wes? Alright, fine, he doesn’t smell bad or anything—in fact, for someone who often appears to have slept in his clothes, he actually smells pretty good.
But all the tattoos and the piercings and the general aura of scruffiness just doesn’t seem to match with this family. It’s baffling.
“It’s such a shame your parents couldn’t be here tonight, Devon,” Jaclyn, Emma’s mother, says to me with a warm smile, snapping me out of my musings. “But a week in Barcelona? How refreshing for them. We should really look into going back there, don’t you think, Steven?”
Emma’s father glances up from an intense conversation he’d been having with Wes. “Hmm? What do I think about what?”
Jaclyn smiles at him indulgently. “About going back to Barcelona.”
His expression is less than enthusiastic. “I don’t know about that. So bloody crowded, and no one speaks English.”
“Because it’s Spain, dad,” Wes says with an eye roll.
“Jackie, if you want to go back to Spain, we can do it in the boat,” Steven allows.
Jaclyn’s eyes light up and she holds a hand to her chest. “Oh, that would be marvellous.”
“Just don’t let Mum go ashore by herself,” Emma says with a chuckle. “Not unless you want a holiday home in San Sebastian.”
“Don’t be a spoiled sport, Em,” Wes says, his mouth curved into a smirk. “Mum don’t listen to her—you go ahead and buy all the holiday homes you want, anywhere you want them. And when you’re redrafting your will, just keep in mind that I was the one who encouraged your dreams.”
“I’ll do that, Wesley. Thank you,” Jaclyn says dryly.
My phone rings just as we’re walking out of the restaurant. I dig it out of my pocket to see it’s a call from Rosh Kulkarni, my firm’s PR director. “Sorry, I’ll just be a sec,” I tell Emma and the others.
Emma just smiles and turns back to Wes, who continues regaling her with what appears to be an amusing story about one of his tattoo clients.
“What’s up?” I ask Rosh upon answering the call.
“Have you seen the news?” I can tell be her brisk, no-nonsense tone that something serious is going on.
Warily, I scan my eyes over the pedestrians and other restaurant-goers nearby, but no one seems to be showing any signs of panic.
Whatever’s happened must have either just hit the news, or it’s not something that affects the general public.
“I’m out with Emma’s family for her birthday.”
“Oh, of course, sorry, I can—”
“What’s going on?”
She draws in a heavy breath, letting it out slowly. “Devon, it’s Hayes and Mueller. ITN just broke a story about a chemical leak at one of their testing sites a few years ago. Apparently, they’ve been covering it up to avoid paying the fines and adjusting their practices.”
“ Shit, ” I mutter, rubbing a hand over my face.
Hayes and Mueller are a big client of our firm; we’ve been doing consultancy work for them for decades now.
“Okay, well, I guess we’ll just have to distance ourselves a little.
Can you manage one of those neutral statements that still manages to be socially conscious? ”
“No, you don’t get it…” she hesitates for a long beat before finally coming out with it. “I got a call from ITN just before the story ran. It was someone from our office who tipped them off.”
I stand there, stunned, staring blankly ahead as a black cab pulls up in front of me to let a trio of giggling women out. “ Who?” I finally manage to grate out.
“They wouldn’t tell me. You know, all that protecting sources bullshit.”
I groan, lifting my hand up to dig into my scalp.
As one of the UK’s leading consultancy firms, we pride ourselves on offering our clients impartial, third-party expertise in a whole range of areas.
We’re often working with sensitive information, so discretion is key.
If it gets out that one of our own employees was responsible for this leak, our reputation will be shot to hell. “Does anyone know yet that it was us?”
“I don’t know what people know,” she says, sounding exhausted. “I’m headed back to the office now to see what I can find out.”
“Okay, I’ll be there soon.”
“Dev, you don’t have to—Emma…”
“It’s fine. She’ll understand.”
Rosh sighs and I can hear the relief in her voice when she says, “Alright, I’ll see you soon.”
I slip my phone back in my pocket and glance around just in time so see Emma wandering over to me, having wrapped up her conversation with her brother.
“Everything okay?”
I shake my head, offering an apologetic frown. “I’m so sorry, but I have to go into work.”
Emma’s eyes widen slightly but she manages to master her expression quickly. “Oh, okay.”
“I’m sorry. I know we’re supposed to be celebrating—”
“No, no, it’s fine.” She casts me a reassuring smile. “I’ll just have a bit of a pampering session instead. Bubble bath, face mask, foot spa. All that stuff I usually don’t make much time for. It’ll be fun.”
I draw her in for a hug, pressing a soft kiss to her rich brown hair. “Don’t forget the white chocolate Magnums and the Katherine Heigl movies.”
“Well, I figured that much was implied,” she says with a shrug.
I chuckle and drop my arms from around her. “Do you want me to take you home first?”
She shakes her head. “It’s fine. It’s still pretty early.” She casts her gaze back to the restaurant for a moment before offering me a teasing smile. “You know, Wes just popped to the loo, but he’ll be heading in the same direction you are if you want a tube buddy.”
I send her a pointed look. “I think I’ll get a cab.”
She lets out a loud chuckle, holding her hands up in defeat. “Worth a try, at least.”