Page 145 of Hate You More

Because that’s the way it’s got to be.

She gives a plaintive cry and, a moment later, I reach that place too.

And in the aftermath, that ebbing exquisiteness, I wish with all my heart that she wouldn’t.

Chapter 41

Troy

Two days later, and I’m in the inner sanctum of a building I never thought to find myself: Manhattan’s oldest members’ club. I’m kind of disappointed. I expected something a little bougier than heavy furniture and scuffed wood. The place smells of furniture polish, old leather, and older cigar smoke. But the bar, at least, is impressive, its backlit shelves of crystal and amber arranged like a show of wealth.

“Thanks, Pete. I’ll take it from here.” I press my hand into his huge meaty one and give a firm slap to his upper arm.

“I thought you wanted to look around?” Pete’s brow furrows, but maybe he’s just seen the shock on Edwin Forbes’s face. Or heard the way he just traumatized The New York Times. I wonder if someone’s gonna need to iron that for him now, given it feels like I just stepped back in time. “You weren’t really thinking of joining this place at all, were you?”

Pete is one of Table’s very early investors. He has a nose for the right ventures and money up to his eyeballs as a consequence. I guess that’s how he has membership to this place, because, as a Dallas transplant, he’s not exactly what you’d call a blue blood.

“Nah,” I admit, adopting an aw-shucks expression. “The wainscotting, the fireplace, the leather wingback chairs filled with wrinkly dudes in sports jackets. Not really my kind of vibe.”

“What were you expecting?”

“Half-naked women swinging around poles?”

Pete chuckles. “It’s not that kind of gentleman’s club.” He must’ve heard about Hugo making that mistake.

“Dammit, I must’ve gotten it wrong,” I say with a grin. “I thought there would at least be whiskey and cigars.”

“Now you’re talking,” he replies, amused. “But something tells me you’re more a Casa Cipriani kind of guy.”

“Truthfully, I’m not much into the group thing.”

He gives a bellow of a laugh. “I don’t know. I can see you in there, sitting under a red-light panel in the gym.”

“Well, now, I didn’t say I wasn’t interested in keeping my skin pretty,” I say, rubbing my hand across my cheek.

He shakes his head as though I’m a long-standing pain in his ass. “If you want to check it out, we can visit there anytime.”

“Pete, you’re a gentleman,” I say sincerely.

“You should’ve just told me what you needed,” he says, his eyes sliding to my father-in-law again.

Fuck, father-in-law. Not sure I like that realization. Or the association. And I’m sensing he feels the same, judging by the shade he’s throwing my way.

It’s like I’m shit on his shoe. Ah, fun times. The good old days.

He’s barely changed. He’s a little older, a lot grayer, but he still has that inborn nose-in-the-air kind of superiority.

I offered to step in, maybe mediate between him and Clara. And she looked at me like I grew a new head. A much stupider new head. But I’m not here to meddle or because I think I know better. I’m here because he called.

He didn’t call personally. I doubt his lily-white hands ever do their own work. His assistant called mine to schedule a meeting. I can’t say I saw it coming, and I’m mightily intrigued. Though I am pretty sure I’m not here to receive his wedding felicitations.

Anyway, the meeting is scheduled for next week. In his office.

Surprise!

But back to Pete.

“Well, I wasn’t sure you’d still sign me in to these hallowed halls.” Pete pulls a face that I read as bullshit. “Not sure these assholes would have me anyway.”