Page 81 of The Fixer

Jet’s hand at my back was my guide, my eyes adjusting to the dimmer light inside. But that light must have affected him, too. For he didn’t keep me from slamming right into Mateo, who’d spun on his heel when he got to a set of carpeted stairs and looked like he wanted to run.

“Mateo Medina.” The voice that called out was sweet and feminine even as it sliced through the quiet of the bank like a sharp knife.

Mateo cringed, shoulders raised, neck tucked, and Jet jerked me into his side. “Oh shit, shit, shit!” He spun, all that anxiety washing away as a rough facade of normalcy took its place. “Queenie! Baby! What brings you here?”

The woman was seated in one of the pale gray upholstered chairs, her arms relaxed over the armrests as if she didn’t have a care in the world. Strawberry-blonde hair so light it looked pink, hung in spirals around her heart-shaped face. Even sitting, she exuded a type of power I’d never seen before. Something about her screamed, “Don’t mess with me,” even with that pretty smile on her lips.

But it was the woman beside her that had my heart clenching. And as it dawned on me that Mateo had called the pink-haired lady Queenie, the same name Jet had said in the car, worries I’d tried to push aside came rolling back like a tsunami wave.

This other woman, I’d seen her twice before.

My first night at Jet’s apartment. The woman in the skimpy red dress who had comforted him while they thought I was asleep.

And the night before the gala, when I’d caught that flash of golden-blonde hair slipping out the door before Jet turned with a garment bag in his hands.

Was she his? I wondered. Or was he hers?

She was beautiful, there was no hiding that. This tiny little thing who looked every bit a temptress, even with the black hoodie covering most of her thin tank top and short shorts. She sat beside Queenie, the same pained look Mateo had worn earlier still slashing across her face.

“I could ask you the same thing, Sugar,” Queenie said, that beautiful smile on her lips and the sweetness of her words doing little to mask the sharpness of her voice.

“Oh, you know,” Mateo said, giving a shrug. “Just out for a stroll.”

Queenie rose from her seat, all gentle grace and deadly violence. Jet’s fingers tightened at my hip.

“Funny, how you seem to have run into our friend, Jet.”

Beside me, Jet raised his chin. His lips were a fine slash across his face, those silver eyes narrowed with something like distrust.

“I did?” Mateo asked, spinning around and acting surprised. “Oh! Hey, buddy, didn’t see you—”

“You can cut the act, Sugar,” Queenie told him, grabbing him by the collar and pulling him around to face her. “Shaw filled me in.”

“She forced me to,” the blonde in the hoodie spit out, hands raised before her as she inched toward the front edge of her seat. “You know we promised never to lie to her.”

Mateo’s hands shot out, gripping the woman by the hips. “I’d say I’m sorry, baby, but I’m not. The only thing I’m sorry about is that I wasn’t by your side.”

Queenie’s hands spread across Mateo’s chest, and in an instant, they were connected at the lips.

“Jet?” I murmured, turning my face away from the couple, embarrassed now by our kiss in front of Mateo out in the car. “What’s going on?”

Before he could answer, before he could do more than open his mouth, Queenie’s hand shot up, a single finger in the air stopping him. “Give me a minute,” she seemed to say. “Let me finish this.”

Jet cleared his throat, and Queenie and Mateo split up, the two of them looking around as they wiped their lips. Queenie turned a gorgeous grin my way.

“So sorry about that.” She smoothed her hands down her hips, over her floral sundress. “I haven’t seen my pain-in-the-ass boyfriend for nearly a week. Hi. I’m Queenie D’Angelo. You must be Eliza Westbrook.”

When I didn’t take her extended hand—didn’t, because I couldn’t move from my spot—the woman reached out and grabbed it, shaking as if I’d offered it anyway.

“It’s lovely to meet you. I just wish it’d been sooner.” She flashed her gaze toward Jet. “You know we could have helped.”

“No,” Jet responded, shaking his head. “Paulo said—”

“I know what my father said. But sometimes, defying his will is the right thing to do. But you already knew that, didn’t you?” The woman shifted her attention to the blonde still seated in the chair. “Zoë?”

She rose, coming to stand between Queenie and Mateo. Under his breath, Mateo muttered, “Traitor,” bumping his hip to hers. She glared at him and poked him in the arm.

“Asshole.”