Page 44 of Filthy Little Lies

“You made a mini version of my apartment.” I run my fingers over the broken spines of my favorite fantasy series.

“You need a place that’s all yours. This is it. If you want to paint the walls, go ahead; if you want to change out the loveseat, just use the black card I gave you.” He picks up a book from the side table, his eyebrow raising at the character art on the first page.

I pluck it from him and place it on the bookcase. “You wouldn’t like that one.”

“Oh, I don’t know. That position looked like something we should try.” He slides his hands into his front pockets.

It’s disarming, the casual way he stands here. Like we’re just a normal couple chatting about the plans we have for the day.

“About that. Last night…I don’t think we should do that anymore.”

He folds his arms over his chest. “Why not?” He tilts his head, like he’s genuinely curious.

“I think it’s best if we keep things…professional. You said I work for you now, right? That makes you my boss—in the business sense only—so we should keep things like that. I’m the employee.”

“Doesn’t the employee have to do whatever the boss says? If I said, take off those jeans and bend over the couch, you’d have to do it, right?”

“No, that would be sexual harassment.” I try to laugh it off, as though we’re just two people chatting.

“Hmm. Unfortunately, we don’t have an HR department.”

“You’re missing the point on purpose.”

“I am.” He agrees and cups my chin. “Documents by eight. If you need anything to get it done, text me. I put my number in your phone.”

“You’re leaving?”

He nods. “I have to go into the office.” He makes a face like he’d rather have nails pushed beneath his fingernails.

“When I’m done, do I send them somewhere or just keep them for when you get back?”

“You’ll bring them with you tonight.”

“Where am I going?”

“We’re going out. I’m meeting with some people who need them; you’ll bring them to me.” He drops a kiss to my cheek, then brushes his lips across mine in a teasing touch. “I have to go. Get to work, employee.”

* * *

“Gabriel said to wait in the car, he’ll be here in a minute to pick you up.” Damien, my driver for the evening, says when I reach for the door handle.

“You can’t just sit here. It’s not a parking spot.” I look out the back window of the black SUV at the line of cars waiting to make their drop off in front of the Navy Pier entrance. “You’re blocking everyone.”

He opens his window, sticks his hand out and flicks his wrist. And the car behind us puts on his emergency blinkers.

“Now they will go around.”

“Wait, that car is with us?”

He looks at me through the rearview mirror. “Gabriel always has two vehicles with him at all times. Tonight he ordered a third. The one in front of us is circling around.”

“Three cars to drop me off at Navy Pier?” I sink back into the soft leather seats, gripping the manila envelope against my chest.

It’s taken all day, down to the last minute before I had to stop working and get into the shower in order to be on time, to get the documents Gabriel wanted. There’re two seals missing, but unless he gives me access to contacts he may have, there’s nothing I can do.

I deal more with identification forms, birth certificates, passports, that sort of thing for out-of-country documents. Shipping cargo manifests and customs reports for a third world country I couldn’t even find on the map until I zoomed the screen to three hundred percent are outside my wheelhouse.

“Here he comes.” Damien points toward the pier.