29. Lia

29

LIA

Red flag party time!

Give me all your epic alphahole recs, ladies. I want to hear about the shit you'll need someone to delete off your ereader when you die, to protect your family's memories.

from @rosepetalromances

Go download the new Austin Belle IMMEDIATELY, but hydrate before you start reading it. You'll thank me later!

from @taroterriblereader

R haim beat me into the office the next morning, but he'd left his door open—and I could see him packing up a leather satchel.

"Where are you going?" This time, I asked it only out of curiosity. I'd done nothing but think after he'd dropped me off last night. Between our activities yesterday afternoon and evening, I had a newfound confidence in...whatever unlabeled thing this was.

He looked over at me, and his eyes ran over my body—the skirt I was in was appropriately knee-length, but the bottom was loose and flowy.

A lot more room to move around in.

But he shook his head and sighed. "To suck someone's dick at the NYSE—metaphorically." He put a final notepad into his satchel and shouldered it. "Our stock can't get listed unless they say so."

"Can I come?" I asked, standing definitively on my side of the line between business and pleasure.

"Not this time, no. This is incredibly preliminary—I'm just feeling out our options with some people we've worked with before."

"Worked with?" I asked, mimicking him, but adding mobster air quotes.

He shrugged, and mimed right back at me—closing one nostril off with a finger, then pretending to do a bump of coke off of the back of his hand. I gasped, and he laughed.

"Not recently, Jesus," he defended himself. "I'll involve you later, when the time's right," he swore. As he came into Mrs. Armstrong's office with me—and sensed my radiating disbelief—he snorted softly. "I can't roll into meetings with Nero Ferreo's daughter from the jump. Don't worry; you'll be my secret weapon."

I wanted to ask if he was just saying that to placate me but then realized I didn't want to upset myself. Yesterday had been good.

Today could be too.

"And you'll tell me everything that goes down?"

He made a cross over his well-fitting suit. "Promise. Just hold down the fort here. Cancel everything for me, for today and tomorrow. I gave you access to most of the financials. Pretend you're an auditor for me, do a deep dive, eh? See if everything passes muster—seeing as you actually know things might not. And until you hear from me—forget you even heard the word IPO."

I nodded—because I wished I could.

Because that was something else I'd spent a long time considering last night, too: the state of my father's company.

I'd assumed I'd had time to prove myself and move up in Corvo's world. But if my dad was planning to take it public without me, and I wasn't any part of the C-suite or the board first, I wasn't at the table, or the kiddie table.

I was thirty minutes away, playing at the beach.

And the thought of being cut out of my legacy without a say infuriated me.

Rhaim tilted his head slightly, to be inside my range of vision again. "Be good, Business Lia," he said, the corners of his mouth curving up. "And keep your phone on."

I inhaled deeply to recenter myself. "Yes, sir."

I canceled everything on his calendar easily and ignored a lot of his incoming emails—I really hoped he was right about important people having his number, because I was not giving Mrs. Armstrong's desk much diligence.

I was more curious about what I'd find out about Corvo. Looking at a company solely through the lens of its numbers was like trying to investigate a new species of beast after only finding its bones.

Everything said Corvo was solid, at the peak of its efficiency—I cruised through spreadsheets and the transcripts of quarterly calls—and occasionally someone would say something during those about taking things public—which my father would instantly put down.

What had changed?

I was considering this with the limited information I had at hand, before lunch, when my phone beeped.

I glanced at it automatically and when I saw the name Monster flash I squeaked—but then the words beneath it made it very clear that it was Rhaim. He must've put himself into my phone the prior night.

Go into my office.

I blinked, and did as I was told, taking my phone back with me.

Did you forget a file?

I texted back.

No. Close the door.

I did, with a slightly guilty conscience, and an unwarranted flood between my legs.

Done

I texted back, then quickly added,

What am I in your phone as?

He ignored me.

I don't have much time between meetings. Take a picture of yourself for me.

I was suddenly flustered.

Which part?

You shouldn't ask me that

he said—and I didn't know if he meant literally, or because if he'd wanted to see one particular part of me, he would have asked, and I should trust he would.

Whichever you like. But hurry, I'm taking another meeting in five.

There was no way I could be sexy on such short notice—so I didn't even try. I went to the back wall of his office and snapped a selfie of me looking contemplatively outside. The lighting was good and so was the composition. I was twenty-three, after all; half the contents of my phone could be in the Louvre.

Three dots bounced at the bottom of my screen for a moment, before his text came back.

The princess surveying her kingdom.

And I didn't know whether or not he was teasing until he followed it up with

I like that.

I took another picture then, with the phone a little closer, and a little more intimate—of me beaming at his response—but I didn't send it.

All right

he went on.

The next meeting should last for about an hour. Take three more pictures—I want a reward waiting for me when I'm through.

I frowned at the screen, unsure what to give him, and then he texted me one last time.

Moth.

It took me a moment to realize he was answering my previous question—and that made me smile, too.

Rhaim hadn't clarified exactly what he wanted...which meant he'd be okay with what I gave him.

I did want to impress him, but I didn't want to be the kind of girl who only had cleavage shots in her repertoire. I wanted him to be fascinated with me, and while I would behave technically, I had to believe he'd given me a little leeway on purpose.

I took three pictures in quick succession and sent him a title first:

Places I want to visit:

I took a photo of the rooftop garden a few buildings over, because it looked sun-kissed and beautiful.

I took a picture of a picture that he had up on his wall, which was black and white, but had a farmhouse in the background and a pretty horse.

And the third and final one was the hollow beneath his large wooden desk, where if I made myself very small, and he spread his legs wide, there would be room enough for me.

I was in the process of sending them off, when I heard the door in my office open.

I ran back for it, to see who'd come in, and was astonished to find a stranger there, sitting on my chair and going through the files on my desk.

"Hey!" I protested—and then he saw me, coming out of Rhaim's domain.

"Why, Ms. Ferreo," he said, in a catcalling tone, pushing back the chair to take in the view closing behind me—and he seemed disappointed to have not caught me in there with Rhaim. "Whatever were you doing in your boss's office?"

"Who the fuck are you?" Rhaim wasn't here. I could curse freely, and the occasion seemed to call for it.

"We haven't met yet," he said, standing to offer me his hand, which I did not take. "I'm Bobby, a friend of Junior's, he told me to meet him here—said he had someone to introduce me to."

I made a show of crossing my arms, just as Freddie Junior came in. I was revolted again by his presence, but he didn't seem to catch it. He took in the situation immediately, and, I noted, seemed completely unsurprised.

"Bobby!" He tsked, and the man laughed, and shrugged, coming out from around my desk. "I'm so sorry, Lia, Bobby lacks manners," he said, with a smile that didn't lift his eyes. "Is the big man here?"

He was not—which I was sure they very well knew.

"And what are you working on, besides?" Bobby asked, flipping idly through the brochure I'd made for the distillery. He looked over to Junior, flashed him the front of it, and Junior's eyes widened.

I knew I couldn't breathe a word about the IPO, or all hell would break loose—but I also knew that as long as I was trapped here alone with the two of them, I didn't feel safe.

"The distillery," I said, circling behind my desk to occupy the space, putting it between me and them. "And making it profitable again."

"Your dad's giving you the distillery?" Freddie Junior asked, with what looked like affront.

"No—it's Corvo's," I said, to hopefully shut the door on further interactions.

Junior thumbed through the pages, then gave Bobby a pointed look. "If you run something here, it's as good as yours," he said, before handing it back to me. "Drinks?" he asked again—and I remembered I'd ignored his text the other night.

"I don't drink," I said, shaking my head.

"And yet you run a distillery?" he said, sounding amused.

"I don't," I protested.

"Hmm. Then seltzer? Iced tea?" he pressed, with the same smug grin on his face, presumably trying to seem charming, but everything about his presence was having the opposite effect on me.

I know where the bodies are buried—I know where the bodies are buried—I know where the bodies are buried . I repeated the phrase Rhaim told me inside my head like a magic spell.

It helped, but it wasn't enough, because if I saw Freddie Junior out of the corner of my eye, in profile, or heard him clear his throat in a certain way—I swallowed air, trying to keep my breakfast down.

"I'm really busy, and I've got a lot of work to do," I demurred, gesturing at the desk in front of me.

Freddie Jr waited, then shrugged. "Another time, then," he said, before jerking his chin at Bobby. "Come on."

"Have fun filing," Bobby said, with a leering grin.

I held on to my shit until they were both out of Mrs. Armstrong's office, but then I fell into my chair, lightly shaking.

If I could barely stand up for myself around my cousin, how the hell was I going to manage to see his dad?