Chapter Seven
Seven
James
Staring at his computer screen, James’s eyebrows knit together.
In the dimmed light of his office, the screen hurt his eyes. He sighed and went to open the blinds, rubbing his temples between his fingers.
The big question was why hadn’t Delacroix told them he was in danger of losing his money? Why keep a deal that would cost him millions when he sank into deep water?
And most of all, who knew all that and scheduled him in regardless?
Not for the first time, James wished their technology made it easy to see where the order came from, but alas …
He sighed and returned to his desk, caught in the middle of a heated email chain with the head of the bank that handled their checks.
The bastard wasn’t giving him anything useful.
James reread the sentences.
Unfortunately, we are unable to disclose that information, even to you. Discretion, and all that, you know how it is.
“You can shove your discretion up your ass,” he muttered. Removing his glasses, he rested his head on his desk.
This is what I was afraid of.
And now he was on the receiving end of some corporate copout instead of an honest answer.
He groaned, considering sending an email to his friend who usually helped him get his hands on information. But even if he did, without a name besides Delacroix’s, Raymond wouldn’t be able to find anything they didn’t already know.
God, James needed a break.
His phone buzzed on the desk next to him and he reached blindly for it. “Hello?”
“So, I guess things finally blew up.” His dad’s tone iced over everything it touched.
“Please, let’s not pretend you weren’t rooting for this.”
“You're my son, why would I want to see you fail?” his dad asked. “After all, we have to keep up our family’s penchant for success, don’t we?”
James scoffed. “Whatever you have to tell yourself. What do you want?”
“Careful, James,” his dad said. “I’m still your father.”
That stopped a long time ago.
“George’s demise isn’t good news for my company, either,” he continued.
“Since he was one of my top shareholders, losing his money was a big hit we honestly weren’t prepared for.
So, here’s what I want to do.” A computer mouse clicked in the background.
“I need to find out what happened to George, and from what I understand, you’re in a similar position. ”
“You want to work together,” James surmised.
“It would be beneficial to both of us, yes.”
Laughter bubbled in his stomach and threatened to spill forth from his mouth.
This was ridiculous—was his dad even hearing himself?
“No, it wouldn’t,” James said. “We have two very different goals and I’m currently handling my problem on my own. I suggest you do the same.”
“I think you forget sometimes you wouldn’t be where you are without me,” his dad replied.
Correction: Without Mom.
“My point still stands,” James said.
“Fine. But don’t say I didn’t ask.”
His dad hung up and James sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.
He doubted his dad even cared about Delacroix at all. Tian Corporation was large enough that the money was insignificant.
But his dad cared how people saw him, maybe even too much. Perhaps the situation with Delacroix hadn’t completely unaffected him, but it certainly wasn’t as pressing as he made it seem.
James’s phone pulsed in his hand, and he glanced at the new text from Sophie.
Do you wanna grab dinner tonight?
He typed in a response, his fingers flying across the screen.
Ok. Did you have somewhere in mind? Do you need me to pick you up?
He didn’t like to drive his car around when he could help it, but for this, he’d make an exception.
God, Friday night … his lips pressed to satin when he kissed her, and fucking her was a trip to heaven itself.
How do you feel about noodles?
I love them
Perfect. There’s a noodle place under my apartment. Meet me at 7?
He liked the message and scrapped the plans he had to stay in the office until late. He had a meeting with a shareholder at five-thirty, but he could push it to tomorrow.
His jaw clenched and he played with a pen.
Christ, he wasn’t supposed to need more than their arrangement—he understood that. Seeing her tonight and every time in the future would only plunge him deeper into the ether.
But even though every bone in his body screamed otherwise, she was too addictive to stay away from.
Argh.
He needed a distraction.
Wandering out of his office, he moved down the hall, turning the corner, and knocking on Cami’s door frame.
“Hey. Heard anything?” James asked.
Unlike usual, no chatter littered the halls.
The team that made up Lotus was pretty small, but save for him, Jackie, and the rest of the C-Suite, he gave everyone else PTO until they figured out the mess with Delacroix.
Cami set down the spoonful of yogurt she’d been about to eat. She’d opened her mouth to speak when her phone rang. She glanced at it and held up a finger.
James leaned against the door frame, his arms crossed, as Cami spoke in rapid-fire Portuguese.
When she hung up, she played with the device. “So that was Max.”
James started. “The one who—”
Cami ate a mouthful of yogurt. “Mmhmm.”
Cami’s friend’s boyfriend worked under Delacroix, and after James mentioned Lotus to Delacroix at a party, they brought it up again to Delacroix’s assistant.
“Did Max give us anything we don’t already know?” James left the unspoken question hanging.
Why would his boyfriend give our name to a man who faced financial trouble?
Cami picked up on James’s concern and crossed her arms. “He didn’t backstab us, so you can drop that thought now. His boyfriend just told him that the night before the news broke, there was a rumor Delacroix was done for.” She frowned. “They thought it was a joke, but obviously, it wasn’t.”
The information hit James like a tidal wave, and he was overcome with the need to launch his fist at the wall.
“And why didn’t he tell us this sooner?” he asked, keeping his voice level.
His friend eyed him, her gaze flashing down to his curled hands.
“Don’t do anything stupid, James,” Cami warned. “At the end of the day, it’s not their fault.”
James sighed. He knew that, of course. But he needed to be mad at someone about this, and Josh and Max had kept the information to themselves for days.
“Look, the point is, it happened.” Cami tossed the empty yogurt container in her trash. “There’s nothing we can do. Josh is out of a job, and they’re busy looking for a new one. Do you know how many places would be willing to hire you when your last employer is a criminal? Not many.”
James gritted his teeth.
Soothing thoughts. He had to think soothing, calming thoughts.
That was what his therapist said. That was what got him through family dinners.
“Well,” he said. “If they can’t find one, tell them to come here. We can find somewhere for them.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Also, you have yogurt on your face.”
He walked out of Cami’s office and retraced his steps toward his.
It didn’t matter who told Josh about Delacroix. It was the person who started it that they needed to find.
That was the root of the problems. Once they found it, they could figure out who let Delacroix blow Lotus up.
People yelling in different dialects of Mandarin assaulted his ears the second he opened the Uber’s door.
He rarely went to Chinatown, since everything he needed was closer to him. But as he passed roasting meats, fluffy, steamed buns, and plump, gleaming produce, he made up his mind to go more often.
Turning the corner, he reached the address Sophie had sent and caught the door as someone was leaving.
The shop wasn’t large by any means, and nearly all the booths were full, but he quickly found Sophie.
She shifted, and his mouth went dry. Her simple jeans and blouse pairing might as well have been a bodycon dress.
The red material of her top sent his mind spiraling to a deeper, darker place. One where, instead of the fabric being molded to her skin, it was his hands. His lips memorized every inch of her.
“Hey,” he managed. “You look nice.”
“Hey! Thanks.” She slid a menu toward him with the tips of her fingers. “Um. I’m going to use the bathroom.”
Getting out from her side of the booth, she turned.
He nearly blacked out right then and there.
If he thought the blouse was gracious on her curves, it was nothing compared to what the jeans did for her ass.
Swallowing, he brought his attention to the few workers kneading bundles of dough behind a large windowpane. Another pair of employees pulled the dough into logs, before slicing them into fresh noodles.
In the back of the workstation, another narrow window looked into the kitchen. Great, big clouds of steam funneled upwards, obscuring the chef's faces.
He cleared his throat and pulled his glasses from the inside pocket of his blazer. Grabbing a tissue, he wiped off a smudge and settled them on his nose. He focused on the menu in his hand, cataloging the different options.
“Have I ever told you how much I like those on you?” She sat again, wiping her hands on those damn jeans.
He cleared his throat and examined the menu again. “You’ve seen me in them once.”
“And it wasn’t nearly enough,” she replied. “Why do you need reading glasses anyway? Aren’t you a bit young for them?”
He shrugged, pushing up the wire-rimmed frames. “Side effect of having to look at small details in art for so many years.”
Taking off the glasses, a slight smirk wiped over his face as a flicker of disappointment flashed in her eyes.
The server came over with a pad of paper, pencil twirling in his fingers.
“Ready to order?” he asked in Mandarin.
Sophie delivered her request in the language, then waited for James to respond.
“Right. I will do fifteen,” he said, the smooth tones rolling off his tongue.
The server nodded and wrote down the order as he snuck glances at Sophie over the top of the pad.
James’s eyes narrowed and he cleared his throat loudly.