Page 63 of Bent, Not Broken

West slid his glasses off and rested them on some papers in front of him. He ran a hand through the longer hair on top of his head. “You don’t seem like the kind of person who enjoys paperwork.”

“I’m not.” I stiffened, not ready for a heart-to-heart with someone I didn’t know. Madden was only now getting me to open up.

West stood and made his way toward me, resting his thigh on the side of Madden’s desk. “You could find other work.”

I crossed my arms and winced at the tightness in my shoulder and collarbone. I could still feel tingles in my fingers, but Leighton said that was from damaged nerves, the only real reason I couldn’t raise my arm higher.

“Like what?”

“I know a lady whose daughter has been missing for nearly twelve months now. The police have given up, but she hasn’t. She’s looking to hire a private investigator.” West smiled. “I think you’d be good at it.”

“I can’t just be a PI. I need to complete the NYS private investigator exam.”

“Ah, you’ve looked into it.” West’s smile widened, and I realized I’d been caught. I glanced at the door where Madden hid, probably getting another hole chewed into him by Demchenko. “You’d pass with flying colors. You have the three years’ experience needed, too.”

“Did Madden tell you to say something to me?” I narrowed my eyes on him, but the bastard was immune.

“No.” His glance at the closed door said otherwise.

“You can tell him that I’ll think about it, all right? I don’t know what’s happening with my actual job right now.” Although, I had a good feeling.

West inclined his head and sent me a winning grin before he moved back to his own desk again. While Madden was still in Demchenko’s clutches, I took the time to stare around the quaint office, and his possessions. Nothing about the room said unprofessional, with a bookcase full of law books, a sitting area across the room near the door with two tan couches and a water cooler, with the two desks closer to Demchenko’s door. The work areas were far enough apart that I imagined there’d still be a good amount of privacy for clients, if needed.

Madden’s desk was orderly, with papers stacked to the right and a photo of him shaking the hand of an older man while accepting his law degree and wearing a black robe and stole. He looked handsome, and only a little younger than he was now, fresh-faced and ready to take on the world, and I couldn’t help but smile.

The door opened, and my smile disappeared quickly as Madden stepped out, Demchenko on his heels. The moment Madden’s boss saw me, his lips twisted in displeasure and he sniffed, striding past us toward the break room.

Madden chuckled as he watched him go. “You’ve met River.”

“On more than one unfortunate occasion.” I quirked a half grin, and Madden laughed harder.

“He’s a good guy.”

“I don’t believe you,” I deadpanned.

West snickered this time, but he hid his amusement behind his hand and leaned down to focus on paperwork. Madden shook his head and slapped me on the shoulder, and I took it as a sign to move. He curled his fingers around my wrist, tugging me in the direction Demchenko went, and as much as I didn’t want to small talk with the asshole, I owed Madden this at least.

Demchenko was at the coffee machine, messing around with the nozzles until hot brew spilled out and into his cup. He glanced toward us when we entered, and he sighed before dumping enough sugar into his coffee to make me wince. “We’ve met, Madden, you don’t need to drag him around like a lost puppy.”

“I’m his person, River. His person.” Madden nudged me and winked.

I frowned between them, not quite sure what was happening, but Demchenko snorted and spun toward us, his eyebrows furrowed, and face pinched in displeasure. He was clean-cut, tall, and good-looking. Weirdly, he reminded me of my fourth-grade teacher, Mr. Maguire, who never really liked me that much.

“Good for you. Now how are you going to explain to your clients that you’re a police officer’s boyfriend, Madden?”

I cringed at that word I always hated hearing. I’d never be anyone’s boyfriend. The word itself was so fucking childish.

Madden clicked his tongue. “Not boyfriend. Person.”

Demchenko gritted his jaw, and I got sick pleasure out of seeing the anger twisting at his usually stoic façade. “Person, then. I’ve heard from King that he’s already met Slater.”

“Purely by accident.” Madden waved his hand and hip-checked Demchenko out of the way of the coffee machine. He started making his own cup, but he grabbed two mugs from a nearby stack. He didn’t need to ask me how I took mine because he’d been making me one every day since I started living with him.

Demchenko sucked in a deep gulp of his coffee and glared between us from behind his gold-rimmed glasses. His dark hair styled neatly on his head, he looked as composed as ever, especially with the fancy heather-gray suit I bet cost an arm and a leg. He and Madden were so much alike in a lot of ways, but I supposed they should be, considering they were in the same line of work. They had to appear professional, rich, and confident.

“This better not cost us our best clients, Madden.”

I took the cup from Madden when he offered it to me and gave him a small thank-you smile. “I doubt King will go anywhere else. You’ve been successful enough keeping the club out of prison. Mostly.”