10. Tatum
Chapter 10
Tatum
I stand in the foyer, watching Thomas adjust his tie for what seems like the fifth damn time in the mirror. His reflection catches my eye, and his lips curl into that condescending smirk I've grown to despise.
"Don't wait up," he says, straightening his collar. "Got some important shit to do tonight."
"Oh, of course, I couldn't imagine walking a mile in your shoes, Thomas Cope," I bat my eyelashes, laying the saccharine on thick.
From the door, I wave goodbye with my fake smile plastered across my face. The moment his BMW disappears around the corner, I bolt up the stairs to his office, the flash drive Dom gave me burning a hole in my palm.
I quietly enter the room, looking around like Thomas might have planted some type of booby trap. I notice nothing out of the ordinary, so I head towards his desk.
While standing in front of his computer, reality hits. I have no fucking idea what I'm doing. They didn't teach this at the all-girl academy I went too.
The screen stares back at me, mocking my incompetence. My fingers hover over the keyboard before I grab my burner phone and dial the number I was given.
"D speaking," Dominic's deep voice resonates through the speaker.
"Hey buddy, so hypothetically, if someone needed to copy files from a computer..."
"You don't know how to do this, do you Tatum?"
I tap my manicured nails against the desk. "Listen, my skill set includes organizing charity galas and picking out the perfect wine for dinner parties. Computer espionage wasn't covered in trophy wife training."
"Jesus Christ." The exasperation in his voice is clear. "What kind of spy doesn't know how to copy a hard drive?"
"The kind that spends her days making meatloaf and getting her roots touched up." I glance at the computer screen. "Look, are you going to help me or should I just start randomly clicking shit?"
"Don't touch anything." He sighs. "Plug in the drive and I'll walk you through it."
"Now that's more like it." I insert the flash drive, watching the little light blink. "Okay, what's next, tech wizard?"
"Click the start menu-"
"The what now?"
"The Windows icon. Bottom left corner."
"Oh. That thing." I click it, squinting at the screen. "You know, this would be easier if you were here doing this yourself."
"Yeah, because a six-foot-eight tattooed guy walking into a senator's house during daylight wouldn't raise any red flags."
"Fair point. Now what?"
Following Dominic's instructions, I navigate through folders and files, my heartbeat quickening with each click. The loading bar creeps across the screen at a snail's pace.
"This is taking forever," I whisper into the phone.
"You got somewhere better to be, princess?"
Princess? I had no idea a pet name spoken by a mobster would make me swoon a little bit.
"Yeah, actually. Like making Thomas's dinner and ironing his socks and underwear like a good little wife."
"Who the fuck irons their underwear…. You know what… never mind."
His low chuckle comes through the speaker. "Once this is done, meet me at Murphy's Bar on 42nd Street. seven o'clock."
My stomach tightens. "Yeah, that's not happening. Thomas keeps tabs on me like a prison guard. He told me not to wait up tonight, but there's no telling when he might show up. And if I'm not here… he may call you to actually come kidnap me."
"Already handled. Your dear husband's gonna have some car trouble tonight. Flat tire, dead battery - you know, the works."
"And how exactly is that gonna-"
"Don't worry you're pretty little head. We've got people for that." His voice drops lower. "Forget the details. Just be there."
The progress bar finally hits 100%. "Done. Now what?"
"Remove the drive properly - don't just yank it out."
"I'm not completely hopeless." I safely eject the drive, thanks high school computer class. "You know, for a scary mobster, you're surprisingly patient with tech support."
I twirl the flash drive between my fingers, smirking at the phone. "You guys should really put an ad in the yellow pages. Need help screwing over your corrupt politician husband? Call your friendly neighborhood mob enforcer for all your tech support needs.'"
"Very funny comedian." Dominic's gravelly voice holds a hint of amusement. "Keep your day job, princess."
The line goes dead just as my personal cell buzzes with a call. James's name flashes across the screen.
"Please tell me you've got something good," I answer, sliding into Thomas's leather office chair.
"Oh, I've got something alright." My brother's keyboard clicks in the background. "Those guys you had me look into? They're connected to Esteban Rodriguez."
The name hits like ice water. "Like the 6 o' clock news Esteban Rodriguez? The drug kingpin?"
"The one and only. What the hell are you mixed up in, Tate?"
I spin the chair to face the window, watching our perfectly manicured lawn. "Would you believe me if I said I'm making new friends?"
"Cut the shit. These aren't the kind of people you want to mess with."
"Neither is your brother in law." My fingers trace the edge of his desk. "Besides, they're already involved with him. I'm just... evening the playing field."
"Jesus Christ, Tate." More furious typing. "You need to be careful. These guys-"
"Are probably more honest than our fearless leader." I stand up, straightening my dress. "At least they're upfront about being criminals."
"That's not funny."
"Wasn't trying to be." I check my watch. "Look, I've got to go play Martha Stewart before his highness gets home. Thanks for the intel."
"Tatum, wait-"
I end the call, tucking both phones into my purse. Time to turn the crock pot on low while I prepare to meet with a mobster and pretend I haven't just committed corporate espionage against my husband.