Prologue #2
“Take a seat.” She motions to two chairs on the opposite side of the table. Ian drops easily, and instead of scooting into the booth bench beside her friend, Matheson pulls up another chair, slightly apart from the table but clearly in the loop.
I’m a beat behind, sitting down next to my brother.
Ren continues to stare, a small grin on her lips as she blinks up at me. Even sitting, we tower over the two females.
“Is this your agent?” Ren teases Ian.
“Entourage.”
Abe appears, clunking down two beer bottles in front of us before disappearing back into the kitchen.
Ren lifts a brow at my brother. “Abe likes you.”
Ian shrugs it off.
My brother integrated himself with Matheson and Trevino just when the Spider showed up. Ren cares about her best friend, a sentiment clearly shared by the Fujimori’s.
“Shall we talk business?” Ren asks Ian just like that. But I knew this was the easy part. It’s the follow through that will test my brother.
“I’m at your mercy.” Ian leans back in his chair, stretching out his legs.
Ren smiles, taken in by my brother’s charm. Except she lifts her hand, holding up a finger.
“Hang on, I’m sorry,” she tells Ian, who takes it all in stride. Ren shifts in the booth, directing her comment to Matheson. “She was wearing the red dress.”
Matheson nods. “Yeah.”
“Okay.” Ren nods back, digesting this information before clasping her hands in front of her on the table. To Ian, she says, “There’s a contract coming up.”
I lean forward, but Ian merely nods occasionally to show he’s somewhat listening.
Until Ren holds up a finger again, indicating she needs another moment.
I glance at my brother, who is again unbothered. He shakes his head at me, firmly believing he knows Ren Callahan well enough to deem this behavior normal.
“I’m sorry,” Ren says to both parties. An apology to us for interrupting and an indication to her best friend that she’s in need of further clarification. “She’s wearing the red dress.”
“Yeah,” Isolde says again.
“To meet with Blake?”
“Yeah.” Isolde’s face is blank, meaning I can’t tell if this is a good or bad thing.
Ren taps the table, gesticulating as she talks. “She’s wearing the red dress to meet with Blake.”
Isolde nods.
“Okay.” Ren looks back at Ian. “You understand how payment works?”
Ian doesn’t have a chance to answer.
“Blake’s nice right,” Ren tells rather than asks Isolde.
The Brit nods, makes a face and shrugs as if to say Blake’s all right.
“Yeah,” Ren says out loud, frowning slightly as she tries to convince herself. “He’s nice.”
“He’s nice.”
“But when we say nice. . .”
“Nice,” Isolde confirms.
“Nice.” Ren takes a deep breath, smiling at Ian. She lets it out a second later, turning back to her best friend. “So when we say nice, we mean. . .”
“Yeah, I don’t really like him.”
Ren throws a hand up in the air, vindicated. “Exactly. Not because he’s bad but because he’s nice.”
“He’s nice.”
“I don’t know.” Ian lets out a slow breath, leaning so far back he begins to tip his chair. “I think he’s fucking boring.”
Ren’s mouth hangs open. “When the fuck did you meet Blake?”
“I saw them in a bar the other day.”
All my life I’ve thought about what it would be like when I finally got a chance to come to Fujimori’s. Never did I think I’d be sitting next to my brother, feeling like the third wheel, unable to comment on whatever gossip is happening here.
“Then why is she wearing the red dress for Blake?” Ren asks the group.
“’Cause she’s planning on getting fucked,” Isolde answers like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
Ren crosses her arms, sitting back. I didn’t expect her to act like a petulant child. Christ almighty, is that why she and Ian get along so well.
“I just thought. . . Like. . .” Ren works through her thoughts. “I don’t know, maybe she would like break up with him now.”
Ren swings her head toward her friend, looking for solidarity.
“He’s not that bad.”
Blake falls into some sort of nice zone deemed more boring than anything. I pity the guy. His girl might bring him around, but her friends will never like him.
“Right.” I cross my arms, taking a deep breath. I’m not here to step on any toes, but I didn’t fly across the Atlantic for some gossip. Ian goes into any scheme without thinking shit through. I’m not like that. I will be asking for details.
Ren smirks. “You planning on having a chaperone for all your dates, Ian?”
Ian rolls his eyes. “The women love him. The beard, the muscles.”
Her smirk grows. I don’t break eye contact. I’m not afraid of her quizzical glances.
“They have no idea how annoying the motherfucker really is,” Ian adds.
“Heard you’ve done good when it comes to fucking with the Stuarts,” Ren says. Warmth coils in my chest. Shit, there’s no shame in developing a praise kink when it’s someone like Callahan doing the praising.
The kitchen door swings open, Abe stomping toward the table. “Hang on, did I hear that right? Blake is still around.”
Jesus Christ. We’re never going to get to see the contract at this point.
I take a deep breath, my head starting to pound. Little sleep, an international flight, and a brother will do that to a person.
“Blake is still around.” The fake smile on Ren’s face shows how she feels about the matter.
“Damn.” Abe grabs Ian’s empty bottle. “I really thought she’d break it off by now.”
“Did you not see her in the red dress tonight?” Isolde asks, lifting a brow.
Abe snorts. “Fuck me.”
“Fuck Adeline,” Isolde replies.
Every nerve in me goes haywire. The air is too tight.
It’s just a name. But any attempt at trying to shut down this slice of panic is torn away when the British triggerman speaks again.
“When Adeline Akatov wears the red dress,” Isolde tells her friends, their attention rapt, “you know what it means.”
When Abe whistles, a wolfish grin on his face, I want to take a fist to his fucking face.
“That Adeline Akatov is looking to be fucked within an inch of her life,” Abe says.
He has no idea what beast he’s just unleashed inside of me.
Because if there’s anybody who should be fucking Adeline Akatov within an inch of her life, it should be me—and she damn well knows it.