Chapter 15 - Augusto
Augusto
I’d forgotten how long it takes the average woman to get ready for dinner. Going by my watch this evening, it takes roughly one hour thirty minutes.
As I’m checking my phone yet again for messages, the door to the bathroom opens and my mouth turns to dust.
My throat scratches when I swallow and my vision narrows to nothing but the figure in the doorway.
Erin has dressed up. And Erin dressed up is distraction in fabric form.
She’s wearing a pale yellow dress, snugly fitted and falling to her knees. Her arms are bare and covered in a rainfall of freckles.
She’s done something with her makeup that makes the pale blue of her eyes piercing, yet expansive.
There are cheekbones I hadn’t noticed before, and with her hair in soft waves, her neck elongates from her nape to her collarbone.
I wet my bottom lip, chasing it with my teeth, then clear my throat and stand.
“You look… nice,” I manage.
“Thanks,” she replies in a tight voice. “So do you.”
I glance down at the tux I threw on. I’ve had it for years but it doesn’t get many outings so it still looks reasonably new.
“You ready for this?”
She flattens her shoulders. “I was born ready.”
Closing the door to our suite, I extend my arm for her to hold onto. She’s smaller than the women I’m used to spending time with, but her arm feels somehow like the right size.
We walk the short distance to the dining room in silence. I’m busy looking for exits, closed off rooms, and cameras—any clues as to where secret discussions might take place and what surveillance I might be able to tap into.
Erin’s sharp intake of breath makes me focus.
The dining room is impressive. Six circular dining tables laden with silverware, wine glasses and flickering candles. The air is thick with the scent of hothouse lilies and fois gras.
No expense has been spared, and rightly so. Invitations to this retreat came with a hefty price tag and a shopping list of fake connections.
Erin tenses beside me. “And there I was thinking I would feel overdressed, not underdressed. Even the servers look like they just stepped out of Vogue.”
I cast an eye over their pressed black vests and polished shoes. She’s not wrong.
A few couples have already arrived. Two of the men I recognize—one from the business pages of the New York Times, the other from a shady deal Bernadi negotiated back when Gianni, the former don, was still alive. I wasn’t in the thick of that, so he wouldn’t recognize me.
It’s good to see our tip-off is checking out though. There’s definitely a black market presence here.
“You’re dressed just fine,” I mutter beneath a breath.
She barks out a sarcastic laugh. “Gee, stop with the compliments.”
I notice with smug satisfaction, my ‘wife’ is probably the best-looking woman in here. Don’t think I’ve missed the approving glances and not-so-discreet stares from across the room as we move deeper into it.
That yellow dress looks like she just poured herself into it. It hugs every damn curve she owns.
My mouth goes a little dry at the thought of what else she bought with my money.
I got the itemized bill of course—I know she has great taste when it comes to designers. I also know she splurged on some very expensive lingerie. That wasn’t part of my brief and I’m a little pissed I won’t actually get to see it.
I have to remind myself, this is a job and I’m paying her. She looks the part, so half the battle’s been won. She just needs to keep to the story I gave her and not ask too many questions when I disappear for an hour here and there.
We find our place names at a table in the center and lower into the seats. Erin’s gaze flickers to me briefly as if she’s looking for reassurance. Without thinking, I rest my hand on her exposed knee. It jumps under my touch, then settles as a light flush rises up her throat.
“You’re doing good,” I murmur.
When another couple arrives at the table, I stand briefly.
The man isn’t familiar to me and neither does he look familiar with these kinds of events. Pale skin, sweating profusely. His damp palm quivers when I shake his hand. His wife looks equally like a deer in the headlamps, wringing her hands repeatedly.
“August King,” I say to them both. “And this is my wife, Erin.”
“Todd Goldblum,” the man says, his gaze flicking nervously between me and Erin. “And my wife, Janey.”
“It’s lovely to meet you.” Erin beams at them. “Where did you travel from?”
Janey turns to her husband with a terrified look in her eye.
“We flew in from D.C.,” Todd answers. “You?”
My chest eases slightly. I could tell instantly he wasn’t part of a criminal family. There’s a chance he could be a financier, but I’d bet money on him being a wayward politician toeing the wrong side of the line, hence the excessive perspiration.
I step in, just until Erin settles into our story. “Long Island. It was a beautiful drive.”
“And this is such a gorgeous location,” Erin says. “Have you had a chance to look around?”
Janey gives a nervous shake of her head. “No, not yet.”
Erin leans forward, her eyes wide with delight. “There’s so much to do here, and the gardens are divine. We have a beautiful view from our rooms, don’t we, darling?”
My head snaps to her. Fuck, she’s actually good at this. “That’s right, darling. We do.”
“I’m hoping to go horseback riding tomorrow while August attends the first meeting. You could come with me if you like, Janey?”
Janey looks like someone just asked her if she’d like to drown in a vat of acid.
“Oh, n—no. But thank you for asking.”
“She’s terrified of horses,” Todd explains, patting Janey’s hand.
“Oh well, maybe we could try… tennis, or hiking. There are some great trails around here. Later in the week perhaps.” Erin cuts her gaze to smile at the waiter filling our water glasses.
Two more couples arrive, completing our table.
The first couple are tall, British, highly polished, aristocratic almost. Exceptionally well-groomed.
The husband introduces them as Miles and Clara Miller.
I clock the Tag on his wrist, the sharp tailoring and almost aggressive confidence.
I’d bet my right arm he’s an investment banker, specializing in offshore.
The second couple catches my attention more than the others. The husband speaks as though American English is his first language, but then he speaks quietly in a different language to his wife, who appears to speak very little English.
Again, I stand briefly to introduce myself.
He looks directly into my eyes. “Nicholas and Anna Parker.”
I introduce myself and Erin. “It’s good to meet you.”
As people settle into their seats, the chatter across the room picks up.
Erin skillfully engages our table in light conversation which allows me the chance to look around the room, matching people with their possible professions, assessing the level of risk they pose, how many jabs to the ribs it would take before they fall to the ground.
I’m not planning to beat the shit out of anyone while we’re here, but it’s good to be prepared.
“So, what do you do, Erin?” Clara asks, an enormous diamond atop her finger fluttering in the candlelight.
I’m about to open my mouth to jump in with a response, but Erin beats me to it.
“Charity work. Mostly education initiatives. Girls programs.”
I blink once. Nice improv.
“Although, I was bartending when this one found me.” She flicks sparkling blue eyes in my direction, momentarily disarming me. “I wouldn’t have had the confidence to pursue my dream were it not for August.”
She rests a hand on my arm, the sparks from the contact and her words making me jump.
I cover up my reaction by taking hold of her hand and lifting it to my mouth.
I only intended to brush my lips across them to demonstrate affection but the softness of her skin and the sweet smell of her perfume make me want to taste her.
So, long, slow kisses to the curves of her knuckles follow until I force myself to lower her hand.
But not before I catch Clara Miller dropping her gaze to Erin’s ring finger. She’s wearing what appears to be her old wedding band—nothing glamorous. Not like most of the other women here.
My eyes flash to her once, just in time to see a flush of heat blossom across her cheeks.
The starters arrive and conversation settles into a discussion about how delicious the food is.
When I’m sure no one is paying us any attention, I lean into Erin.
“I’m going to need to put a tracker on your phone.”
She chokes a little on her water. “You’re what now?”
“For your safety,” I tell her, quietly. “You’re technically my employee while we’re here, so I’m responsible for you. Can’t have you wandering off.”
Her eyes narrow. “Wandering off where? I can’t leave the resort without you, and this place is so vast it would take me a week to locate the exit.”
Well, that’s reassuring. Still…
“I just need to know where you are when I’m not with you.”
She tips her head to one side. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”
Fuck. She’s a little too sharp this one.
“Look, it’s nothing to be concerned about. As you say, this place is vast. I need to know where you are in case I need you for anything.”
When her eyes narrow further, I add, “It’s no big deal. I can put a tracker on my phone, for you. How does that sound?”
Her face lights up. “That sounds fun.”
I refrain from rolling my eyes. “Believe me, you won’t find anything fun in my whereabouts.”
“I have to be able to get something out of this,” she says, handing me her cell. “Like stalking but totally permissible. No restraining orders necessary.”
I dart her a look. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”
She simply runs her tongue along her top teeth and arches a brow.
Holding the phone at my lap, I get to work.
“There,” I say, handing it back. “Now you can stalk me.”
Her blue eyes roll a little when she snatches it back. “And there I was thinking romance was dead.”