20. Dominic
Chapter 20
Dominic
We're finishing the food network worthy breakfast Tatum has prepared when my phone vibrates against the wooden table. Thomas Cope's name flashing on the screen. I hold up a finger to silence everyone and press the speaker button. Tatum's eyes go wide, but she nods in understanding.
"Senator," I say, keeping my voice neutral. "What can I do for you?"
"My wife's missing." His voice crackles through the speaker, more annoyed than concerned. "You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"
I catch Tatum rolling her eyes as she takes another bite of her eggs. "That's unfortunate. Have you contacted the authorities?"
"Don't play games with me, Dominic. If this is about our arrangement?—"
"Senator," I cut him off, drumming my fingers on the table. "If we had any grievances with you, you'd know about it. We're businessmen, after all. Not some group of mobsters."
Tatum nearly spews orange juice out of her nose.
"The press is already calling. This looks bad."
"I see that. I watch the news."
I lean back in my chair, watching Tatum's expression shift from amusement to curiosity at Thomas's next words.
"There may have been some Asian businessmen from my trip to Singapore last month... they weren't exactly legitimate traders." Thomas's voice drops lower. "I may have promised them something I couldn't deliver."
Connor catches my eye across the table, shaking his head. Issac suppresses a laugh behind his coffee mug.
"And what exactly did you promise them, Senator?" I keep my tone even, professional.
"Look, that's not important right now. What matters is Tatum's missing, and if they took her?—"
"You want my opinion?" I interrupt, watching Tatum mime gagging motions. "File a police report. Get the ball rolling."
"But Singapore?—"
"Senator," I cut in again, "if some foreign organization had taken your wife, don't you think they would have contacted you by now? Made demands?"
A pause on the line. "I suppose."
"Look," I lean forward, resting my elbows on the table. "We'll look into these Singaporean contacts of yours. In the meantime, focus on playing your part. Be the concerned husband. Make those press appearances."
"What exactly are you suggesting?"
"I'm suggesting you do what politicians do best - act." I catch Tatum's smirk from across the table. "And Senator? If I were you, I'd keep your other... business ventures quiet for now. Last thing you need is attention from the wrong people."
"Fine. Just... find out what happened to her. My reputation is at stake."
The line goes dead. Tatum bursts into laughter, nearly choking on her breakfast. "God, he's terrible at this. Singaporean traders? Really?"
"Man's juggling too many balls," Isaac mutters, pushing his plate away.
"And dropping every single one," Connor adds.
"He's quite the overachiever," I say.
"More like over-complicator," she mutters. "Can't even keep his criminal enterprises straight."
Tatum wipes tears from her eyes, still laughing. "You should've seen his face when he tried lying to the press about that education bill last month. Like a deer caught in headlights."
"Speaking of press," I tap my phone screen, pulling up a news feed. "Looks like your disappearance is already trending. Your husband works fast when his image is at stake."
"Oh, let me see." Tatum leans across the table, her shoulder brushing against mine as she peers at the screen. "'Senator Cope Distraught Over Missing Wife.' Distraught? He probably had to Google what that means."
Tatum sets down her fork, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "So, what should we do next to up to ante? Should we send him some photos? You know, me tied up in my underwear or something?"
Coffee sprays across the table as Isaac chokes mid-sip. Connor drops his fork with a clatter, and I nearly swallow my tongue trying not to react.
"Jesus Christ," Isaac wheezes, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "That was… hot… the coffee…. too hot…."
"You've been watching too many low budget movies," I manage to say, keeping my voice steady despite the mental image now seared into my brain. "We're professionals, not amateur pornographers."
"Though I bet that would get his attention," she muses, stabbing another piece of egg.
"This isn't some straight-to-streaming thriller." I state firmly, pushing my plate away. "I wouldn't put it past him to sell the shit for a quick dime."
"That's a good point, but such a shame." She shrugs, a mischievous glint in her eye. "I've got this great matching set from La Perla that's just gathering dust."
Connor makes a strangled sound and excuses himself from the table. Issac suddenly finds the ceiling fascinating.
"You're enjoying this way too much," I tell her, fighting to keep my expression neutral.
"Can you blame me?" She grins, popping the last bite of toast into her mouth.
I check my watch, noting the time. "We've got meetings across town. Need to keep up appearances while your disappearance hits the news cycle."
"What should I do?" Tatum asks, stacking the breakfast plates. "I could clean?—"
"You're not here to be a maid," I cut in. "The pool's heated. Take a break, relax."
She pauses, plates balanced in her hands. "I didn't exactly pack a swimsuit in my getaway bag."
"Just grab some gym shorts and shirt from my room," Connor offers.
"I'll just swim in my underwear." Tatum shrugs like she's suggesting ordering takeout. "Not like anyone's around to see."
My knee smacks the underside of the table and there's no way Issac finds his coffee mug that fucking enthralling.
"The property's secure," I manage, keeping my voice steady. "Guards at every entry point, cameras on the perimeter. No one gets in without us knowing."
"Perfect." She sets the plates in the sink.
"We should head out," I stand, grabbing my jacket. "Security team's on standby if you need anything."
"Have fun at your meetings," she calls after us. "I'll just be here, doing hostage shit."
"For fuck's sake," Isaac laughs as we head for the door. "She's going to be the death of us."
"Focus," I snap, though I can't completely disagree. "We've got work to do."
I slide into the driver's seat of the SUV, my knuckles white against the steering wheel. Behind me, Issac and Connor pile in, unusually quiet.
"You didn't tell her about the security feed," Issac points out as we pull out of the driveway.
"Didn't seem relevant." I keep my eyes fixed on the road ahead.
Connor leans forward from the backseat. "Sure it didn't…"
"Enough." I cut him off, taking the turn onto the main road with more force than necessary. "We're professionals. Act like it."
"Speaking of professional," Connor interjects, "shouldn't one of us stay behind to keep an eye on things?"
"The security team can handle it." I merge into traffic, ignoring the knowing looks my crew exchanges. "We've got more important things to deal with."
"Like these mysterious Singaporean traders?" Issac snorts.
"Exactly." I pull up to a red light, drumming my fingers against the wheel. "Connor, run background on Thomas's recent overseas trips. I want to know every meeting, every contact."
I press harder on the gas, focusing on the road ahead. We've got work to do, and I'm not about to let myself get distracted by thoughts of what might be happening back at the house. Even if those thoughts involve La Perla lingerie and a heated pool.
Professional. We're keeping this professional.