Chapter 22
Despite the return of a more uncomfortable tension between them, or maybe because of it, Estella chose to tempt Ellie for another drink, tugging her in off the street to a set of stairs hidden behind a nondescript laneway door, revealing a low-lit room full of chandeliers and beautiful people.
She ordered them both a top-shelf whisky, neat, and led them to sit in a darkened corner where they sipped side by side, and this time, Ellie reminded herself to soak in every detail of Estella Grant, slightly tipsy.
Her movements were less languid, which was how Ellie realised that the sensuous way she had about her was calculated.
Her body was more relaxed, her hands moving quickly as she talked, her expressions goofy.
Ellie felt entirely comfortable with this version of Estella and that scared her more than anything.
Estella Grant, the cute, funny murderous criminal?
“God, you trip me out sometimes,” she said aloud, because uh-oh, Ellie was hazy with alcohol too. Estella grinned at her, wide and guileless. Was that an act too?
“How so?”
“You’re just… not what I expected,” Ellie confessed. She had to stop talking.
“I never am,” Estella said. She sounded deeply smug, so sure she was getting one over Ellie that Ellie couldn’t stop her laugh.
Estella was dangerous, yes, and a master criminal too.
But there was an innocence to the way she kept thinking Ellie was taken in by her lies, and it made Ellie feel entirely fond of her in this moment.
When they spilled out into the street, they were both flushed with laughter, loose-limbed, silly.
“We should go,” Estella announced and Ellie felt a sharp pang in her chest at that.
It was becoming a familiar problem around Estella, that she always wanted more.
Estella though, pulled out her phone. “Ken,” she said, and Ellie saw the huge shadowy bodyguard speaking into his phone halfway down the block.
“Go get the car, I’ll meet you on the corner of Little Collins and Elizabeth. I’ll just get this one to a cab.”
“I’ll get an Uber,” argued Ellie, pulling out her phone. Estella tugged it out of her hands.
“A cab,” she insisted. “I’ll get you a safe driver.”
Ellie snorted at her. “You own the cabbies too?”
“Just some,” Estella said easily.
“You think I should have more trust in a cab driver with gang connections?” Ellie found that hilarious.
“Not everything I do is illegitimate.” Estella stumbled slightly over the word, and Ellie found that even funnier.
Estella elbowed her in the ribs. “It’s not,” she said.
“You know, that’s my office right there?
” She pointed up at one of the darkened windows on a beautiful, sculpted, Edwardian-era building reaching high above the city street.
“Can’t get any more legitimate than an address like that,” she smirked.
Ellie gaped at her. “Whaaaaaat?” She started laughing again. “No. You liar.”
“Please,” Estella rolled her eyes. “Why would I lie about that?”
“Prove it,” Ellie challenged. “Oh my god, let me see it. The legitimate office of Estella Grant.”
Estella snorted, but she shrugged one elegant shoulder and gripping Ellie’s elbow, she tugged her across the street.
Ellie couldn’t stop giggling at the absurdity of the scene, as Estella produced from her shoulder bag an objectively normal office swipe-card like some kind of garden variety government employee and tapped it at the heavy glass sliding door.
It slid open, revealing a dark marble lobby, just enough low-lighting to let Ellie see the set of lifts.
Estella stalked towards them to hit the up button and the clip of both their heels on the marble recalled to her the creepy moment with Jenkins earlier that night.
A slight shiver set up in her spine, but then she caught Estella giving her a sideways look, that said, with great obviousness — see — and she relaxed into a giggle again.
“Grant Enterprises?” Ellie read off the business description beside the elevators, aligning with floor nine. “You don’t hide behind shell companies at least?”
“Why would I?” Estella raised her eyebrows. “The police know where to find me already. I don’t want random people wandering in thinking I’m a travel agent or a dermatologist.”
That struck Ellie as even funnier, dissolving into helpless giggles again.
Standing in the elevator, she couldn’t stop shaking her head, as Estella sent them to level nine.
She could see their reflections: two tight-fitting, well-cut dresses and stiletto heels, then everything else in reverse.
Dark hair and eyes, pale skin; blonde hair, sparkling blues, golden tan.
We look fucking hot together, she thought, then tried to banish the thought.
When the door slid open, Estella used her swipe-card to open a heavy wooden door, then flipped a switch to put on low lighting in what looked like a waiting room.
It wouldn’t have looked out of place at all for a swanky dermatologist, so she could see why Estella tried to avoid the confusion.
It smelled delicious, as if Estella had a liking for fancy candles, and was furnished with three pale lush couches, a set of beautifully tended tropical plants and some well-framed modern art.
Ellie tried to picture exactly what kind of clients sat out here, waiting to meet with Estella but her imagination failed.
Estella pulled open the next heavy wooden door and Ellie followed her in, letting the door swing closed behind her.
Estella leaned in and flicked on a small desk light and Ellie looked around, trying to hide her slight awe.
Estella had picked the kinds of furnishings that Ellie had only seen in fancy law offices on high budget TV shows.
The desk was expansive, dark wood, the imposing chair a soft cream leather.
There were floor to ceiling bookshelves filled with hard cover books.
There were four sets of windows, all covered with heavy luxurious curtains.
Only one set was open, showing a deep-set picture window with views out over the city.
“Um, wow,” Ellie managed. She could imagine Estella sitting in that desk chair, conducting business and oh, wow, she needed to stop picturing that immediately.
She turned to see Estella watching her, like she was waiting for approval and Ellie felt, for a second, oddly powerful.
“I bet you look hot as hell sitting behind that desk,” she heard herself say. Ugh, stupid whisky.
Estella just smirked at her.
“I do,” she agreed. Ellie needed to stop the train of her imagination immediately, but Estella had drifted closer to her, something just there in her eyes.
Ellie was too sensible for this, she really was, but the buzz of the alcohol in her blood had turned down the voice inside her that told her to stop looking at Estella like that.
Her breathing had gotten faster setting her heart racing along with it, because they were alone, in this luxurious room, no one to observe, the air thick with something unspoken.
The silence between them started to stretch, because there was nothing to say all of a sudden, only a stark choice: break the tension and pretend the way they were looking at each other was nothing, or for Ellie to slide back on the edge of that desk, bite her lip, tilt up her chin and let that look speak for itself.
Indecision and her last vestiges of sanity made her turn instead toward the bookshelf, as if to check what kind of books Estella had on display, but right then and there, Estella reached for her, gripping her wrist tightly.
Ellie’s stomach swooped, almost lightheaded with desire, but when her eyes flicked up the look in Estella’s eyes made her jolt.
Estella was barely inches from her, quickly pressing a finger to Ellie’s lips to silence her, as just as quickly she leaned over and snapped off the light, plunging the office into darkness.
There was a note in Estella’s voice Ellie had never heard before, and that note was fear. “There’s someone in here.”