Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
Archer watched the emotions flicker across Tatum's face as the reality of her situation finally began to sink in.
Shock and adrenaline had carried her to this point.
Anyone would have been reeling after seeing their apartment torn apart, their life violated.
But the reason he'd insisted she eat tonight was simple.
She needed space to think. To really think.
Whatever she was involved in carried real risk, and she had to understand exactly what that meant.
He also needed to know what the hell she'd gotten herself into.
Archer said quietly, "What is it that you know, Tatum?"
She stared into her wineglass, unfocused, the pale liquid catching the firelight. Minutes slipped by. The silence stretched between them. He was just about to prompt her again when she broke it.
"I'm not sure what I know."
That stopped him cold.
He kept his voice careful, controlled. "You've never struck me as someone who's unaware. So either you're trying to put me off, or you're not being entirely honest."
She finally met his gaze, and he could see the calculation there. The weighing of options. The decision of whether or not to trust him.
Despite himself, he felt a flicker of irritation. He'd done nothing but protect her tonight. Nothing but treat her with respect, tonight and always. He'd earned at least a measure of trust. But he also understood what she'd just been through. The fear. The violation.
He could afford to give her grace. For the moment.
"Could I have a cup of tea?" she asked quietly.
"Of course." He glanced at her plate, still mostly full. "Are you finished? You didn't eat much."
She nodded. "I'm not that hungry anymore."
"How about dessert with your tea? I hear the meringue is excellent."
Her quick, hopeful smile loosened something in his chest.
She inclined her head. "I’ve heard that too."
Archer stood, picked up the phone, and dialed the kitchen.
He ordered tea and meringue for Tatum, a coffee for himself, and asked for a container for the leftovers.
When he glanced back at her, she was staring into the fire, her profile outlined in gold.
The curve of her neck. The set of her shoulders.
She looked fragile and fierce all at once.
Dangerous combination.
He'd just sat back down when there was a knock at the door.
He rose and let the waiter in. Tatum moved toward the windows, putting distance between herself and the waiter as he began clearing the table.
She wrapped her arms around herself, and Archer had to resist the urge to follow her.
To stand close enough that she'd know she wasn't alone.
He had no idea why Tatum brought out these thoughts in him.
He kept his private life completely separate from work.
Always had. It was one of the few rules he'd never bent.
But there was something about her that reached past the professional distance he'd spent years perfecting, something that brought out instincts he'd thought long buried.
He didn't examine it. He simply noted it, the way he noted everything, and filed it away.
"Here's your container, Mr. Gray."
"Thank you, Al."
Archer packed the pasta away, his movements efficient. "You can take everything else."
"I'll finish up," the waiter said, collecting the remaining dishes.
Archer placed the container in the refrigerator, then crossed back to stand beside Tatum. The clean, light floral scent of her perfume reached him as he stopped just behind her shoulder.
"I saved the pasta for you."
She glanced up at him, surprised, then smiled a little impishly. "Thanks. It was excellent. I love pasta for breakfast."
"I thought you might," Archer said, and returned the smile before he could stop himself.
The moment hung between them, warm and unexpected. Then Al finished arranging the tea, coffee, and meringue on the coffee table in front of the fire and quietly excused himself.
Once they were alone again, the air shifted. Became charged.
Archer gestured toward the sofa. "Shall we?"
"Yes."
Tatum curled one leg beneath her as she sat, the movement graceful and unselfconscious. She reached for the teapot, but Archer gently brushed her hand aside. The brief contact with her warm, soft skin sent a jolt through him.
He poured the tea himself, adding just a splash of milk.
He was aware of how she liked it, just as he was aware of how every board member took their coffee, their tea, their preferences.
It was part of his job to know these people.
Still, the awareness felt different this time, and he noticed that too.
He handed her the cup and saucer, his fingers grazing hers again. She looked up at him, and for a split second, something sparked in her eyes. Awareness.
Then she took a sip and sighed softly. "Thank you. That hits the spot."
He nodded and settled on the opposite chair, watching her over the rim of his coffee. Waiting.
He would get answers tonight. Gently, if possible. But time was pressing, and he had responsibilities that couldn't wait.
She set her cup down after finishing half of it, refilled it, then picked up the meringue and took a bite.
"Oh," she said, her eyes closing briefly. "This is delicious. Please extend my compliments to Pierre."
Archer inclined his head in acknowledgment. He waited. She was stalling. He could see it in the way she took another bite and savored it longer than necessary. The way she wouldn't quite meet his eyes.
She glanced up at him, then looked away.
Tatum leaned forward, set the meringue back on the coffee table, and picked up her tea again. "The truth is, Archer, I'm not sure what I know."
His stomach knotted. "Seriously?" He couldn't quite keep the edge out of his voice. "I'm sensing a but…"
She gave a brief, humorless nod. "Yes. There's a but."
She wrapped both hands around the cup as if drawing warmth from it. "I feel like there's more to the Granite Industries Ponzi scheme than what came out in the press."
The knot tightened. It was exactly what he'd suspected all along. Something about the whole thing had never sat right with him. The players. The execution. The sheer scope of it.
"Explain," he said quietly.
Tatum sipped her tea, then set the cup carefully back on its saucer. "Okay. Here it is; no doubt Vince Kelly, Richard North, and Tim Lebowitz are the front men of the operation. They're out there shaking hands, making deals, being seen. But they're not the brains behind it."
She met his gaze, unwavering now. The firelight caught in her eyes, turning them amber. "None of them are smart enough to have come up with this, let alone execute it and keep it running as long as they did."
She shook her head. "Four years, Archer. Four years of working the top tiers of New York and other cities across the globe before they got caught. I just don't see it."
Archer took a sip of coffee, buying himself a moment. She was right. She was absolutely right, and it irritated him that he hadn't pushed harder to confirm it earlier.
"You're right," he finally said. "It wasn't them." He said it with the conviction he felt in his marrow.
Her eyes locked onto his. "Was it you?"
One eyebrow lifted. "I'm trying very hard not to be insulted by that."
"You could take it as a compliment," she said lightly, but there was steel underneath. She was testing him. "I certainly think you're smart enough to be the brain behind it."
A corner of his mouth curved despite himself. "All right. Let's take it that way, then."
He sobered. "But no. I agree with you because you're right. None of them was capable of pulling this off. You've taken their measure correctly. They were not the brains behind the scheme."
He leaned back slightly, stretching his legs out in front of him.
"I always suspected as much. It's one of the reasons I never invested with them.
Technically, I could have invested Society funds.
I'm always looking for viable opportunities, but what they were selling was never real.
I knew it the moment they opened their mouths. "
"Then why didn't you do something?" Tatum demanded, her voice sharp.
Archer exhaled slowly and swallowed another sip of coffee.
"It wasn't my role," he said finally. "And because they're members, I can't go around accusing them without proof.
The only way to get proof would have been to get inside, and if I'd done that and confirmed my suspicions, it would have put me in an impossible position. "
She didn't look convinced. Her jaw was tight, her eyes narrowed.
"My job," he continued, "is to remain neutral. To provide a place where members can conduct their business, whatever that may be, as long as they don't directly harm other members."
He held up a hand before she could interrupt. "And before you accuse me of picking sides, harm is a subjective term. Many of the people who lost money to these men could afford to lose it. In some cases, frankly, I thought they should."
Her jaw tightened further, and he could see anger simmering beneath the surface.
"I do feel genuine sympathy for those they preyed on," he added, his voice quieter. "People who didn't have money to lose. But to be brutally honest, they were not my primary concern."
Tatum leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest. The movement drew his attention to the line of her collarbone, the elegant sweep of her throat. He brought his gaze back to her face.
"That sounds like a pretty lame excuse, Archer," she said. "You could have helped people but you chose not to."
The words hit harder than they should have. He took a slow breath. It had been a long day. He was trying to help her, not fight with her.
So again, he chose grace.
"There are facets of my position I can't explain," he said quietly. "Understand that if I could have intervened without destabilizing everything else, I would have."
He leaned forward now, intent. Close enough that the distance between them felt charged. "That's one of the reasons I'm trying to help you."