Twelve years later, nothing’s changed—except instead of her wandering around drunk at Nirvana, she’s wandering this skyscraper in the same vein.
I grab her hand and pull her toward the door leading inside. “I’m taking you home.”
“My speech…”
“You’re in no shape for any kind of public speaking.”
She tries to wrench her hand from mine, but my grip’s too tight.
Still so soft after all these years.
“What part of I’m not supposed to be seen with you don’t you understand?”
“I’ll have one of my guys sneak you out a side exit. It’ll be discreet.”
She loses any urge to argue as a chilling gust of wind blows through in the few seconds it takes us to walk to the door.
Once inside, I steer her into one of the executive offices on the top floor, flipping on the light switch. She stumbles in her heels, almost tipping over, but I’m fast enough to catch her.
“Oh god. Am I that drunk? I am, aren’t I?” She kicks off her heels and staggers over to the lounge sofa in the large room. Her hands come up to cover her face once she’s plopped down onto one of the sofa cushions. “This is sooo embarrassing.”
“You’ll be fine. I’m having one of my guys confirm we’ll be able to get you out, sight unseen.”
“What will I tell the event coordinator?”
“I’ll handle it. We’ll pass word letting him know you’re not feeling well. You came down with a stomach bug.” I shoot off a couple texts to Stitches confirming our car is waiting downstairs and that he’s sent up one of my men to keep the coast clear.
Delphine has no clue the lengths I go to for her. The lengths I’ve gone to over the past twelve years just to make sure everything in her world goes as it should.
I’ve closely monitored every aspect of her existence.
Her college education. Her law career. Her romantic relationships and personal life.
If she ever did find out, I’m sure she’d be pissed with me—I was supposed to stay away.
As I await Stitches’ confirmation, I stroll over to the sofa where she sits. Her elbows dig into her thighs as she sits with her face buried in her hands. She’s straightened her curls tonight, her sheets of dark hair draped over her shoulders. The urge to reach out and touch her, brush the hair away from her face, strikes me.
What can I say? In my basest element, Delphine’s mine. She’s always going tobemine.
My interest in her might’ve started off as a means to get to her father, but when I like something, I usually become obsessed. Delphine’s no different.
I sit down on the other end of the sofa. “You going to tell me what’s up with you?”
“I need to get home and sleep this off. Tomorrow I need to do damage control. The election is next year and I can’t screw up my chances at district attorney.”
“Stop worrying about becoming DA for one second. Everybody knows it’s yours. The guy who’s rumored to be running against you doesn’t stand a chance.”
Mostly because I’m planning on leaking the skeletons in his closet to the press the week before the election. It’ll give her an extra boost and lock in her victory—again, if Delphine hadanyclue the lengths I go to for her…
“Well?” I prompt when she says nothing. “Is this about the mugging?”
I almost tell her I’ve dedicated every waking hour over the past couple of weeks to catching the piece of shit. So far, Stitches and the rest of my guys haven’t turned up much. No camera footage exists at the station on Fifth and Warring. No eye witnesses. No suspects. No evidence at all indicating what Delphine’s told me actually happened.
My men have torn apart the city searching for Ralph Mirra. He’s mysteriously vanished, which tells me we’re on the right track thinking he had something to do with what went down that night.
At my mention of the mugging, her breathing grows noticeably shallower. I take an inventory of the change in her body language. Her shoulders hunch forward and her left knee bounces. She keeps her hands over her face, revealing she knows if she looks at me, I’ll probably figure out whatever it is bothering her.
“Phi, if you think I’m dropping it, you’ve forgotten who you’re dealing with. You’re obviously upset.”