Page 15 of From the Shadows

“Me? What about me?” My neck is up, and every cell in my body is screaming to deflect, to hide. To get the fuck out of here. But the cooler I play things, the lower I fly under the radar.

“Are you even here?”

“Sitting right here, motherfucker.” Deflection it is, then.

Attitude.

Superiority.

A nice touch of condescension.

“Your ass is, but your brains? Not so much. Amie at it again? Who’s she got her claws in now?” Teague’s knee bounces as his face lights up with the allure of gossip.

I push myself to better posture and level him with a look that I usually reserve for depositions. Its effect is negligible. “Amie never ceases to be a cunt. Her manipulation skills are top tier. I don’t know who she’s digging her talons into. Nor do I care.”

“But…?” Christophe hikes a brow, probably giddy not to be the current focus of Teague’s hyper-fixation.

Yep. I sigh, because what else am I going to do? I’m sitting in the mob boss’s office to discuss his latest problem, and instead, it’s like a coffee klatch sharing gossip back and forth.

“But something is up with her. She’s digging for more money with one breath and with the next, she’s sending the nanny to my place with Evie. The two of them were packed for a week minimum with no notice.” Why am I sharing this? I try to keep Evie removed from this part of my life and vice versa.

Teague tilts his head and grins at me, mischief dancing in his eyes. “Nanny’s hot, though, right? If she’s under your roof for a week or more at a time, you could tap that for a little sunshine of your own, yeah?”

“Fucking hell,” I mumble to the ceiling.

“You okay?” Christophe asks, brows pinched low, face full of concern. “The nanny is an issue now? Do you need me to send Sophia to your place? Or bring Evie here. Your daughter is welcome at the estate any time. Winnie would have her spoiled rotten in less than an afternoon. Hell, the house staff would love to have her around for practice.”

Silence falls over the office because Christophe just gave up more than he probably intended, more than he should have. Certainly, more than is strictly prudent. Especially at this stage.

As safe as he has made his estate, it’s not a true fortress, and the walls have ears that aren’t always backed with good intentions.

“I don’t know that your childhood nanny is up for running after a toddler anymore,” I say, carefully avoiding the secret he just spilled. “Besides, my nanny is the least of my worries. Most of the time.”

“She wasn’t my nanny, not really. And she’s maybe the same age Maman would be if she were still with us.”

“Sophia moved Christophe into the dorms in college and sent us off to get laid. She’s solid. And why most of the time? What’s Celeste got going on?”

“Chantal, and she’s fine. She just had a last-minute thing this morning and I”—my head bobbles as I choose my words—“had to pivot at the last minute. Not a big deal. But is this the problem you wanted to discuss?” I swing focus from the poster boy for ADHD sitting next to me, to the serious scowl across the desk.

“I fucking wish. Because I promise, my honeybee all swollen and round with mon bébé is the farthest thing from being a problem we can get.” He lets his pride show brightly through.

“Congratulations,” I say as Teague offers up something in Irish that sounds both harsh and lovely at the same time.

Christophe shifts in his chair, checks the CCTV screens on his monitor and then glances out the door to the foyer, making sure we’re as alone as we possibly can be. His surge in paranoia does nothing to lend credence to his offer for Evie to spend any time at the estate, and instead, it bolsters my decision to keep this life far, far away from her.

“The problem I called you here to discuss is I think we have a rat. I’m not positive who it is, but things have surfaced outside these walls that aren’t common knowledge.”

“What? Who?” Teague bounces to his feet and is immediately ready for action.

I glare at him and turn to Christophe. “Do you have any ideas? Any feelings on who?” No matter who it is, this is a disaster. How close are they to the inner circle? How much sensitive information do they have access to? We can’t simply clear the house and start over again with staff. The personnel is too vast, the vetting process too deep.

This sigh comes from Christophe as he leans forward and lowers his voice. “It’s someone close to the information. I have a short list, but I’m keeping an eye on Garrick.”

That’s it. That’s what does it for me. I lean forward and snag the crystal decanter from the corner of the desk, swiping a tumbler between the fingers of the same hand. I pour myself a good three—maybe four—fingers and throw it back.

Chapter 7

Sweets & Sighs