23. Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Three
Dacre
“So, who’s the girl?” Florence says on the other end of the line. I denied about five requests for a video call but couldn’t avoid this last phone call.
“There is no girl.” I weave past a few guys in the hallway as I walk. Solexxa hallways are taller than they are wide. “And I really can’t talk right now.”
“Uh-huh. What about that article on the forums . . . I think her name was Emma?”
“How would you have access to that?”
“I have ways. I had to keep tabs on you, since I thought I was losing you to Clyde.”
I nearly stop, but the door I’m looking for is just up ahead.
“What are you talking about?”
“You talk to me way more than you used to. I thought I was losing you there for a minute. You were so . . . serious.”
“You’re not losing me, and there is no girl.”
“Is this Emma Osborne related to Olivia Osborne? If so, I need you to get me an autograph.”
“I have to go.” I rap my knuckles on the door.
“I’m serious! Please.”
I always find ways to make my life harder. Never easier. Never better. Always the worst possible choice. Biting Emma was a lapse in judgment, brought on by her refusal to bend and my lack of willpower.
Now I’m attuned to her even more than before.
I used to be able to ignore it, but now it’s impossible not to notice.
She’s been quiet all week, barely talking with her family.
And she’s been skipping breakfast, which is her favorite meal of the day, when she normally fills her plate with warm ham and cheese croissants.
All the quiet has given me a lot of room to think. The closer I get to Emma, the more this question nags at me: What does my grandfather want with Emma? Sure, he wants her to participate in the gala, but there’s something about that which rings alarm bells in my head.
And that’s why I’m here, knocking on the one person’s door I promised I’d never be at.
“I’ll call you later. Promise. Be good.”
I stuff my phone into my pocket as the door opens and Luther appears, drawing his brows together.
“Hey, boss. What’s up?”
“Deal me in.” I brush past him to take a seat next to Darien.
Luther has one of the few suites in Solexxa. The floor is littered with cups and clothes, but tucked in the corner is a small, round poker table. Above it there’s an intricate stained glass window, haphazardly taped over with posters.
Darien straightens his jacket while I pull out my chair.
I knew he’d be here.
“You never want to play,” Luther says as the door shuts.
“I’m feeling lucky tonight.”
“Care for a drink?” Darien motions to a tray of liquor.
“I’ll get my own.”
Darien isn’t an easy person to track down. He blends into the shadows and has a way of getting away with skipping classes, apparently, because I visited all of them today, and he was nowhere to be found in the castle.
I drop three glasses of whiskey on the table.
Luther’s cheeks are red, and he steadies himself before dealing out a few cards.
“Should I save you a seat? Write your name on it? I mean, it’s such an honor having an Everhart at my table.”
I take a sip. “Possibly. Depends on whether I win or not. What are we wagering?”
“Cars,” Darien says. “Luther’s idea.”
Luther flashes the keys to his prized motorcycle. Perfect, I own many cars. None I’m really attached to. Maybe that’s why they make good wagers for bets.
I wait a few minutes, ensuring everyone has had at least one sip and the game has started.
“You’re a hard man to find,” I test the potion.
Darien doesn’t flinch as he drops three chips on the table.
“That’s by design.”
“Better fold, boys.” Luther chuckles as he draws another card and raises.
I raise, too.
“I need to know where you heard the information about the contract one of the Osbornes shouldn’t sign. Who did you hear it from?”
Darien raises, too, taking another sip of his glass.
“I had a feeling you’d be back for that information.”
“I have to know.”
“Dacre, can I ask you something?” Luther reaches over to pour more whiskey into my glass, spilling a little on my hand.
I nod.
“Say there was someone in the club I was interested in. Do you think that would be a conflict of interest?”
“Have you finally decided to make a move on Verity?” I attempt a joke, but jokes never sound right coming from my lips. Maybe my sister is right. I’m too serious.
“No. Not Verity. She’s new, seems . . . fun.” Our eyes meet, and I hide my clenched fist under the table.
Is he really interested in Emma? Or is he just fucking with me?
“It’s closer to home than you think,” Darien’s voice rings in my head.
My spine straightens, and my chest tightens.
“My grandfather? . . . He wouldn’t leave a paper trail that obvious.”
“You’re sure? Lots on the line.”
“So what do you think, Dacre? Say there was a girl . . . Blonde. Peppy. Fun. Would it be a conflict of interest?”
He raises again, and I do too.
“Look up ‘Matthew Bromen.’ I think that will give you the answers you need,” Darien says.
“Who the hell is that?”
“You didn’t hear about him from me.”
“That would be a conflict of interest.” I rake my hands through my hair.
And that’s exactly what I’m doing by getting involved with Emma. I should leave the cards where they are and let them fall, but I can’t. I won’t. I don’t know how.
Luther drops his empty glass on the table with a thud.
“Ah, that’s too bad. Guess we’ll both have to keep things professional,” he says.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Careful of Luther. He knows more than you think.”
“Nothing, boss. Nothing at all.”
I finish my drink without fuss, silently resisting the urge to tear Luther’s throat out.
“All right, show ’em.” Luther taps the table.
“Royal flush.” I place my cards on the table. “I’ll have the estate contact you for the paperwork for your cars.”
Darien is the only one still smiling when I turn to leave.