Chapter 33
KATE
When I come down to the kitchen on Monday morning, Nilsson is waiting with a carafe of coffee and my favorite mug. “Thank you,” I say, pouring a full cup.
“My pleasure, Kate.” Nope. There’s still the slightest hitch in his voice when he says my name. He’s still fighting the instinct to say madam.
He passes me a manilla envelope.
“What’s this?”
“Your copy of the…document Mr. Wolf had me courier to the court this morning.”
The feckin’ divorce petition we signed last night. I push the envelope away. Something about it feels evil, as if the paper itself was printed by the devil.
“Kate,” Nilsson says. “It is not my place… I should not say… If I may take the liberty of saying…” He hesitates a third time, apparently unaware that he’s just destroyed his record of flawless robotic efficiency at all things.
I wait, because doing anything else seems cruel.
“I am personally devastated to see it has come to this.”
Ordinarily, devastation comes with a healthy dose of emotion.
Nilsson’s voice still sounds like he’s reciting obscure Swedish legal codes.
But he reaches out to pat my hand with all the awkwardness of a teenage boy at his first school dance.
His fingers are colder than the granite countertop, but I manage not to flinch. He adds, “Anna and I both are.”
“Thank you,” I say. I have to clear my throat to avoid bombarding Nilsson with the type of emotion he might find unbearable—a sniff, God forbid, or even an outright sob. We’re both a lot more comfortable after I take my coffee and leave the kitchen.
Cole is on the phone in his office. “I need a minimum of two thousand square feet. Reception area, cubicle farm for ten, and at least one conference room that can be outfitted with a two-way mirror and an observation room. Yes. Like a focus group. Staff kitchen. Private restrooms. And I need to move in within one week.”
He pauses as the person he’s talking to explains why that can’t be done.
“I don’t care if it’s a sublet. I don’t care if it’s goddamn new construction. It needs to be available by next Monday at the latest.”
He listens some more.
“Yes, I’ll pay a premium. Triple the market price. I need solutions from you, not more reasons why this is impossible.”
The person on the other end of the line clearly tries to soothe him.
“I don’t care which shell companies you use, but the lease absolutely must not be traced back to me or to Lone Wolf. Yes, I understand the challenges. Yes. Yes. I know. Confirm what you find by close of business today.”
Cole ends the call with an exasperated sigh.
“That went well,” I say.
“Goddamn commercial realtors.”
“Can they do it?”
“I offered a one hundred percent commission on a one-year lease for prime DC real estate at a grossly inflated rate. They’ll get it done.”
Apparently we’re back to spending money like drunken sailors. Not that we ever really stopped…
“We’ll need a website for MAJAT,” he says.
“I’m on it.” I’ve already decided to reach out to the top five players in the Labyrinth, making a pitch for them to join me for work outside the game.
“It has to look like a typical government site, one that’s been up for at least a year. We should plant some news articles too, announcing the task force and pointing to the page.”
“What part of I’m on it sounded like I was asking for advice?” The words are out of my mouth before I can remind myself Cole needs to be in control. Always. In every way.
He gives me a sidelong look but doesn’t call me on my tone. Instead, he says, “We need to start building our distribution list for once we get the goods on Tarasov.”
“I’ll take care of it.” And Ariadne’s Daughters have their first actual project.
“We’ll need a prioritized list of legacy media, websites, podcasts, even individual influencers. We can pre-load—”
I’ve crossed the room and set my carafe on the corner of his desk, along with my coffee mug. He cuts off his recitation as I settle my hands on his shoulders, waiting for him to spread his knees.
“We make a good team,” I say.
His hands close on my hips, but he doesn’t pull me close. “There’s so much to do.”
“This is the first day. We have thirty.” I wriggle in his grasp, forcing my way forward.
“We need to—”
“Thirty,” I say, leaning down to kiss his stubborn lips. “Count with me. One.” I kiss him again. “Two.”
He buries his face against me. As I run my fingers through his hair, his wild energy trembles through his body. “Kate…” he whispers.
“You’ll do this,” I say. “Same as you’ve done every feckin’ thing you ever set your mind to.” I deliver one more kiss then step away, giving him the thing he needs most of all—time and space to work. “I’ll get started prioritizing a distribution list,” I say.
He’s reaching for his mobile before I carry my coffee from the room.