Chapter 50
50
M aeve
But he never returns. Not during the night. Not in the morning. Leaving me wondering if everything he said yesterday to that woman was a lie and he actually decided to go and check what she has to offer.
By eleven in the morning, I can’t take it anymore and pick up the phone to call Martin. Even the fear of looking like a jealous idiot can’t stop me from trying to figure out where my husband slept last night.
“Yes, dear. What’s up?” His cheerful voice makes me think it’s actually his personality.
“Hey, Martin. How are you?”
He laughs. “I’m always good. How can I be of assistance?”
“I was wondering if… like, umm.”
“C’mon, spill the beans.”
“Is Ezra there?”
“He is.” His tone turns careful. “Why? ”
He seemed to be on my side yesterday, but he’s also been working for Ezra for who knows how long. I don’t know what I can and cannot ask.
“Maeve,” he sighs, losing the humor. “What happened?”
“He didn’t come home last night, so I thought—” I let my words trail off, scared to appear too desperate.
“Well, now it makes sense.”
“What does?”
“His wrinkled face and the pillow on the couch in his office.”
To say a wave of relief washes over me would be an understatement. “He was there?”
“Looks like it. He’s also very grouchy,” he adds quieter. “Like very.”
“Okay. Thank you, Martin!” I say, sounding way happier than I was before. I can’t help it—the news of him spending the night alone in the office fills me with sunshine and rainbows.
“Alright, dear. Is there anything else I can help you with?” The humor is also back for him.
“Nope. I’m good.”
“See you soon then,” he says with a laugh and hangs up.
Feeling a thousand pounds lighter, I go to make myself a sandwich because my appetite is suddenly back, when my phone pings with a message.
I’ve got it.
I quickly reply.
On my way .
I fix extra sandwiches, stick them into a bag, add a bottle of water, and run downstairs where George is sitting in his favorite chair, reading a paperback book. He rises to his feet when he notices me.
“Mrs. King,” he says with a nod.
I place my hands on my hips. “Maeve, George. It’s Maeve.”
“Maeve,” he repeats with a warm smile. “Where to?”
“To meet Jeff. He has good news for us.”
The fresh photos are burning my hand.
For the past two days, I’ve been thinking how I could use these images to our advantage. I mean, just to throw them in his face probably wouldn’t scare the naughty inspector. People have sex all the time. Sometimes with hookers—who cares? That’s what he’d say back.
But I also found out that the inspector Boris is married into old money. That he himself came from nothing. Well, I didn’t find out about that myself, but I asked Noah what he knew about him. He quickly sent me a file with all the information I could possibly need. He said he already had someone looking into him.
So, a good question to ask Mr. Boris would be what would your wife think of these pictures? Would she like to see them?
Me explaining to him how his wife can be made aware of the existing pictures should ensure me a few minutes of his attention. If they’re using dirty tricks to keep the building from opening, I sure won’t feel bad using some good ol’ blackmailing back. I can almost imagine myself striding into the city building, all guns blazing. Right into the inspector’s office.
I don’t want Ezra to get his hands dirty since it’s totally my idea, so I intend to do everything myself.
George parks in front of the building and walks around to open my door.
“Shall I go with you, ma’am?”
I consider his question for a moment. I could use a witness, but it’s for blackmail, so probably tainting this pure man’s soul is not a good idea. Hmm, a tough question. I’ll let George decide.
“Well, I’m about to do something illegal,” I start carefully, looking for his reaction. I get none.
“Will you need a cleanup service after?” he asks without blinking, and this is the first time I feel lost. What kind of services does he actually perform besides being a chauffeur?
“That depends,” I reply with a weak smile, playing into his scenario, still believing he’s joking.
“Then I shall accompany you. In case the depends requires my presence.”
I’m trying very hard to figure out if he’s joking or not but fall short. A tall man rushes from the door to us.
“You can’t park here, it’s the city building. Your car will be towed.”
George levels him with a stare and says in the quietest yet most threatening voice I’ve ever heard, “This is Mrs. King’s car,” he says my name like it has some heavy weight, “and she won’t be walking anywhere. When we’re back, the car shall be here. Please, make sure it is.”
With that, he touches my shoulder, silently ushering me inside. I tilt my head to look at his face because I sure as hell don’t recognize this man. How could I ever think him to be an old gentleman ?
Inside, we go through the building like a bulldozer through old walls. George’s presence makes sure of it.
I push open the door with the name ‘Inspector Boris Lebovski’ and find him shoving a big cupcake into his mouth. His eyes go round when he sees us, and the cupcake gets sucked down the wrong pipe.
Through fits of coughing, he cries out, “What are you doing here?” There’s a skinny, tall guy running toward us from the reception desk, but George closes the door shut right in his face. Then he takes a stance right in front of it with his hands interlocked in front of him. I’ve never been happier with my decision to use his help.
“Who the fuck are you?”
“Hello, Mr. Lebovski,” I say as I plant my butt in the chair across from him. “I’m Maeve Wrong.” I deliberately use my maiden name so as not to be associated with Ezra and to keep his name clean.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” he asks, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“I’m here on behalf of the less fortunate folks of this city.” I fix the flowy skirt around my knees. “Who would like the King building to be back on track and working.”
“A-a-ah,” he singsongs, a smile spreading over his face. “You’re the woman who was sold for shares.”
I smile without confirming anything, shoving down the desire to smack his face with my foot. There’s a time for revenge, but it’s not now.
“Well, I’ll say to you what I said to your husband. You are fucked.” He starts laughing maniacally.
“Are we?”
Someone knocks on the door, but we all ignore it.
“There’s nothing you can do now.” He keeps laughing. “The wheel is in motion, and it’s just a matter of time when your company will become mine. ”
“Hmm,” I hum loudly, digging into my purse. “I’ve got some cool stuff here that might change your mind. Wanna see?”
The tick of his eyes is the only indication that he might be unsettled by my words.
Someone’s body pushes at the other side of the door, and I turn toward the sound. An arm in blue shows up when someone pries it open. With one speedy movement, George smacks the arm, and it quickly retreats back with a loud ouch . My loyal Kevin Costner, the bodyguard I didn’t know I needed, pushes the door closed and clicks the lock. Taking a stance with his hands interlocked in front of him, he gives me a small nod. “Apologies for the interruption. The place is crawling with rodents.”
Clearing my throat in attempts to mask a chuckle, I return my attention back to the person who’s holding King Developers as a prisoner.
“What do you have in there?” He’s staring at my lap where I keep the images turned away from him.
“You’re a very photogenic person, Mr. Lebovski,” I say, dramatically admiring one of the pictures. “You should try Hollywood.”
“What do you have there?” His neck moves with a swallow.
“Oh, not much. Just your happy mug visiting one of your girlfriends.” With a wide smile, I place the pictures in front of him. One by one. With every revealed image, his cheeks become paler. When a full carousel is splayed in front of him, he wipes his sweaty forehead with his hand.
“And what? Like you think your own husband doesn’t go to hookers.”
“Tsk-tsk-tsk.” I lean back in my chair. “But it’s not about him, is it? It’s about your wife. How is she, by the way? Did you know I went to school with her younger sister? ”
I did not, but he doesn’t know that. His eyes go as wide as saucers.
“We’re actually still friends. I might ask her sister to bring your wife along when she visits me in my new home.” I blink like a debutante. All my lessons of being sweet while delivering deathblows come in handy. “I also wonder how tight that prenup of yours is.” Tapping my finger over my lips, I add, “Will you have a cent left to your name when she divorces you? What do you think, George?”
“Highly unlikely.” George’s being a good sport by feeding into my fake scenario.
“You wouldn’t do that. This is blackmail!” Boris raises his voice, glancing between the two of us, but not enough for anyone behind the closed door to hear it. Which speaks volumes.
“You think?” I pick under my nails, pretending to be bored out of my mind.
“It’s illegal,” he hisses.
“You think?” I pick another one.
“No one will believe you!”
“You think?”
Boris’s breathing turns labored as he starts rifling through the pictures.
“What do you want?” he asks finally.
“You know what I want.”
“I can’t do that.” He shakes his head. “They really want this company. My brother has insider information.”
“From where?”
“Where do you think?” he asks in disgust. “If his own father sells him out, who will ever trust him? He’s as good as gone from that chair. It’s just a matter of time before they take it from him.”
I clamp my jaw shut while still trying to smile and not show how viciously angry I am right now .
“Sign the permit, and we’ll take care of the rest.”
He eyes me cautiously. “What about the pictures?”
“They are yours.” I shrug, gesturing at the damning photos in his hands. “Just sign the permit.”
His jaw is moving from side to side while he contemplates his decision. After a short consideration, he opens a drawer of his desk and pulls a paper out. I stop breathing, praying he won’t change his mind. His hand holding a pen pauses for a moment over the paper. So does my heart. It starts beating again only when the tip of the pen lands on the white.
Once the signature is in place, he pushes the paper toward me.
“Where are the originals?”
He’s definitely covering his bases, which leads me to believe I’m not the first person to blackmail this unfortunate man.
I smile. “Once the building reopens, I might think about giving them back.”
His nostrils flare as he jumps from his chair and toward me. “You bitch.”
George moves fast. A second ago, he was guarding the door, and now he’s pressing Boris’s neck onto the desk. Not believing my eyes and the changes in this aging gentleman, I stare at my chauffeur.
“Don’t threaten this woman. Ever.” His voice is cold and unyielding. And very freaking scary.
Boris nods into the shiny surface, and only then does George let him go. Stepping away and fixing the hems of his sleeves, he silently takes his previous position by the door.
Pretending to be unbothered by George acting not George-y is much harder than trying to convince Boris that I’m good at blackmailing.
While the inspector’s pulling himself together from the embarrassment, I decide to graciously give him a moment to find his pride. And in the meantime, I shoot George a quizzical look. He shrugs one shoulder with a ghost of a smile before planting the bored look back on his face.
I return my attention back at Boris when I hear angry panting. He’s tapping the wooden desk with his fingers while glaring at me without blinking.
“You have my word, Mr. Lebovski. As long as you don’t cause any troubles, I won’t cause any either. We are now in a partnership.” I jump to my feet. “Pleasure doing business with you.”
I walk to the door, ignoring quiet profanities thrown to my back.
George opens the door to reveal the sweaty-looking skinny guy in a blue jacket who was trying to get inside. When he sees George’s face, he steps aside, and we quickly leave the building.
The car is outside, waiting for us right where we left it, along with the man who threatened to tow it. George walks up to him and gives his shoulder a good, sturdy tap.
“Great job, son. Mrs. King appreciates it.”
The man mumbles something and rushes back into the building.
When we’re back inside the car, George turns to me from his seat.
“Are you okay?”
“Ask me about that in an hour,” I say with a cackle. My hands are shaking, my heart racing. But I feel victorious holding this little piece of paper that will solve all our problems.
“You were amazing in there.”
“I don’t know about that,” I laugh.
“You were.” He turns back to look up front. “You’re a good match. ”
“And you are a sly fox, George.”
I see his smile through the mirror. He doesn’t say a word after that, just quietly drives me to Ezra’s building.