Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Angelo
Remi studies the video, while I study her. The little pickpocket has a way of disarming me at every turn. She’s more dangerous than I gave the woman credit for.
“Maks, where will you and IT guy be positioned?” she asks.
He pauses the video. “We’ll be in a van parked in a garage one block over.”
“And how long will it take to do your cloning stuff?” Remi continues.
“At least ten to fifteen minutes.”
She sighs heavily. “So we’re looking upwards of thirty minutes the mayor will be without his phone. Eyes must be on him the entire time; he notices it missing, then I have to scrap the return attempt.”
“Let’s say he notices the missing phone.” I think out loud. “This is his victory lap, so to speak. He’ll likely be drinking, having a good time; his automatic thought won’t be that someone stole it. We use that to our advantage, positioning the ‘lost’ phone so one of his minions finds it.”
“Who is in charge of this operation?” she challenges.
Remi’s boldness should irk me, and yet I find myself enjoying our little game of back and forth. “You can make that call in real time, but we’re not ruling anything out preemptively.”
“Fine,” she relents.
Maks resumes the video, and we watch until the end.
“Well, what do you think?” I ask Remi. “Will you need a ‘duke man?’”
“Maybe?”
“I hate that answer,” I tell her bluntly.
“Sorry, but this is all very fluid. Think of it like jazz versus classical music. We’re playing jazz here. Improvising?—”
“Is that what happened when you got yourself arrested? Improvising?” I challenge.
She crosses her arms, raising her chin in defiance. “That has no bearing on this job.”
“No bearing on this job?” I repeat incredulously.
Knock. Knock. Knock. “I’m not eavesdropping on your business; I need my permission slip signed for school tomorrow,” Al calls through my office door.
“Come in,” I call, and Al enters. Turning to Maks, I tell him, “ Я хочу знати подробиц? ?? арешту. ” I want to know the details of her arrest.
“ Я працюю над цим .” I’m working on it.
“ Працюйте старанн?ше ,” I tell him through my teeth. Work harder.
“Did you know my brother learned Ukrainian just so he could talk in code to his little lap dog?” Al tells Remi, giving Maks the evil eye.
“That’s enough,” I chastise my sister. “Let’s see this permission slip.”
Al hands me the form, and I read it carefully before signing. “Maks will escort you on this field trip until I can find you a new bodyguard.”
“Forget it, I don’t want to go anymore.” She wads up the form and tosses it in the trash before storming out. “Night, Remi,” she calls.
“Night, Alessandra,” Remi calls back.
Having endured too much drama for one day, I resist the urge to rub my temples.
“Remi, do you have any other questions about the plan?” Maks asks her.
“You wouldn’t happen to know where the mayor keeps his phone on his person? That would save me from feeling him up at the party.” She says it in a joking manner.
My jaw tics. “Do you plan on tongue-fucking this mark?”
“How bad do you want the phone?” Challenge flashes in her eyes.
“How bad do you want to test me?” I menace, leaning forward in my chair.
Maks nervously clears his throat. “At public appearances, we’ve noticed it on a phone clip attached to his belt.”
Remi considers. “Here’s what I’ll need.” She lists off items that have no business belonging in the same sentence.
“Maks, get what she needs after you drop Remi and me off.”
“Drop us off where?” Remi asks.
“You’re at the disadvantage again,” I tell her with great satisfaction.
Remi
We pull into the alleyway behind The Boardroom , and I’m ushered through the back door and into the empty building. “Is your restaurant closed?” I ask.
Angelo nods. “For a private event.”
“What private event?”
He motions to the stage. “You wanted to practice the set. I thought you might like to do that on an actual stage. But first, let’s have a bite to eat.”
Angelo pulls out a chair for me, and I take a seat. Eyeing the vase of red carnations in the center of the table, I cross my arms. “This isn’t a date.”
He sits beside me, grabbing my chair leg and pulling my seat closer to his. It’s a far sexier move than it should be.
His lips quirk. “But I bought you carnations; I thought that was your date criteria.”
“Clearly, I need to raise my standards.” Narrowing my eyes at him, I ask, “How did you get rid of Laurie so quickly?”
“Like most people in my life, Laurie is easily persuaded by the mighty dollar,” he admits.
“That’s sad,” I comment.
He shrugs. “That’s business.”
“And what persuades you to be with her?” I ask, even though I’m confident I won’t like the answer.
“Laurie on my arm provided me with an air of legitimacy,” he answers matter-of-factly. “She has social connections that I needed. But don’t misunderstand me, I’m also a man, and I have certain other needs.”
“I’m glad she can help you with all your needs,” I say coolly.
“Helped. Past tense,” he assures me.
Having heard this song and dance before, I don’t comment.
A server appears, filling our glasses with water. “Ma’am, would you like something else to drink? Wine, perhaps?” the man asks me.
“No, thank you,” I tell him, wanting to keep a clear head for when I practice.
The man disappears to the back, and Angelo reaches into the interior pocket of his suit jacket, handing me a folded paper.
I bounce excitedly in my chair as I look over the set list. “Some of these songs I don’t know,” I admit.
“Which ones?” Angelo’s fingers brush mine as he takes the paper, those same fingers he had inside me earlier today.
He’s thinking about it too; with heavy blue eyes, he uses those fingers to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.
My nose crinkles, ignoring the fluttering between my legs. “I hope you washed those hands, especially since you were double dipping.”
Fire in his eyes, he grabs my cheeks and yanks my face inches from his. “I don’t know how much clearer I can make myself. I did not touch Laurie. But yes, I did wash my hands after you came all over them. With my tongue.”
Our server appears, and with a mixture of heat and annoyance, Angelo releases his hold.
My heart pounds against my ribcage as I fall back in my seat, but God bless the server, he refuses to look anywhere but the table. He efficiently pours from a bottle of sparkling water and places down a bread basket without a word, and swiftly exits.
Angelo examines me, a predator sizing up his prey.
He knows what I look like when I orgasm. He knows what I sound like when I orgasm. Oh my God, and if he really licked his fingers, he knows what I taste like when I orgasm.
My mouth now bone dry, my tongue darts out, wetting my lips, and he tracks the movement like a hawk.
Not girlfriends showing up “uninvited” to palatial weekend houses .
A reminder of one of the many reasons why Angelo Calvani and I are a bad idea.
I clear my throat, getting us back on track by pointing to a song. “I don’t know this one,” I say, ignoring the pulsating between my legs.
He goes to grab his phone from his pocket. His empty pocket.
A nervous giggle bubbles from me. “Sorry. I was practicing in the car.” Reaching into my bag, I return the phone.
He shakes his head, unlocking his phone and pulling up the song. Hitting play, the music fills the air, and I close my eyes, imprinting the chorus and progressions into my mind; the melody I pick up right away.
The song ends, and I open my eyes to find Angelo studying me with the same intensity he brings to just about everything, including a thorough finger-banging. I force my cheeks not to flush by sheer willpower. “What?” I ask.
“Can you play the song now?”
“Let’s find out.” Stretching my fingers, I walk up to the stage, taking a seat behind the baby grand.
A big grin spreads across my face as my fingers glide over the keys, the melody finding its way out of my right hand. The lush, rich sound of the piano fills the room, and I get lost in the chord progression.
My fingers linger over the last notes, and the room goes silent.
Angelo rises, giving me a standing ovation.
“Thank you.” I stand, giving a silly little curtsey.
“Come eat, and then you can finish the set,” he calls, and I realize the food’s been served.
Smiling, I exit the stage with a nice little spring in my step, taking a seat after Angelo pulls out my chair for me and then pulls it close to his.
Again with the sexy chair move.
“Even with a gun held to my head, I wouldn’t have been able to hear that song and play it. I’m in awe,” he tells me.
“Thank you.” I can’t help but grin.
“I took the liberty of ordering you the crawfish fettuccine, with no crawfish for the lady, of course, because she doesn’t like those little mudbug eyes looking at her.”
I sigh.
“What’s wrong?”
“Oh, nothing.”
Only that this man is hell bent on making me fall in love with him.
And what a colossal mistake that would be.
Angelo
I haven’t so much as thought of my camera in years, and yet here I am, using it to sneak pictures of Remi on stage. Better to seek forgiveness than ask for permission. And I’m one hundred percent certain that when she sees the final results, my clandestine photo session will be forgiven.
The woman was born to be a jazz pianist, no two ways about it. A talented musician, yes, but she has that certain something. A stage presence. Your eyes can’t help but be drawn to her.
Maks appears, jerking his head.
I rise, approaching the stage, and Remi pauses her play. “Is there a problem?”
That remains to be seen, but shaking my head, I tell her, “I have some business to attend to. Continue practicing.”
“Ha. You’ll have to carry me offstage, because I’m not leaving.”
“That can be arranged,” I promise her.
Rather liking that idea, I reluctantly leave to deal with what I’m sure is far less enjoyable business.
Moving swiftly to my office, I sit behind my desk, and Maks slides over a manila envelope. I open it, finding legal documents for one Ellis Harrell. “Sienna’s story checks out,” I comment, flipping through Ellis’ criminal file.
“Arrested for simple possession of a Schedule 2 substance, namely cocaine; currently on pretrial diversion.” Maks turns over another document. “The musician list for the mayor’s party.”
My name lands on the trumpeter. Ellis Harrell.
I glance back up at Maks, who looks like he wants to say something. “Out with it.”
“There are too many coincidences around this woman.”
“You don’t believe in coincidences,” I remind him.
“I don’t,” he agrees.
“Remi had a connection to Ellis, who had a connection to Sienna, who had a connection to Fabien,” I think out loud. “Have any of them visited Fabien in prison?” If he says Remi, well, I don’t want to even think about what I’ll do if he says Remi.
“No. Your brother’s had no social visits, except for you and Al.”
“Phone calls with any of them?” I press.
Maks shakes his head. “No.”
“Then for now, we treat it as a coincidence. What have you learned about Remi’s arrest?”
Reaching inside his jacket pocket, he slides over her arrest warrants.
We received information from our Confidential Informant that an organized pickpocket ring was working the French Quarter…
“Who ratted her out?” I ask.
“I don’t know who the C.I. was,” Maks says.
Continuing reading, I learn Remi was busted lifting a large sum of cash from an undercover officer as a part of a sting operation. Additional charges were picked up when she attempted to flee the scene.
My fingers drum on my desk before I announce, “No more digging before the party. I don’t want attention brought to Remi, and potentially, my connection to her.”
Maks nods. “Understood. And what of this ex-boyfriend of Remi’s? Both Ellis and the piano guy go missing before the party, it’ll look suspicious,” he warns me.
I hold up my hand, stopping him in his worried tracks. “Ellis will play the show.”
His final performance.