Page 50 of Queen of Ruin

“No.”

“So you’re really doing it,” Alistair comments, lighting up a cigar.

I crack open the patio door of the library letting in the cold November air. “Who are you, Hugh Hefner?”

Alistair crosses an ankle over his knee and puffs on the cigar exaggeratedly.

“Don’t deflect. You’re studying for the Bar,” he points to the textbooks on the desk. “Does this mean you’re going to hand over your freedom and join me in wearing a suit and tie?” he challenges, holding the cigar out in front of him to inspect it. “By the way, your father has good taste.”

I take a seat behind the desk, running a hand over my face. “Yeah, so?”

“What does that mean?” He takes another puff of the cigar, the smoke billowing around him.

“I don’t know what it means. I just know that it’s time to quit being angry and do something for myself, and not because I think it will piss off Rausch or my father.”

“Spoken like a card-carrying adult,” Alistair teases. “But this is big.”

“It’s time I grow up. My parents aren’t coming back and I just… I want more out of life. Even you have a fucking job,” I scoff.

“Riding my coattails, Dare?” Alistair teases.

I crumple up a piece of paper on the desk and throw it at him. “Hardly. By the way, Cleo?”

“What can I say? Evangeline has fine friends.” He puffs on the cigar while smiling wolfishly as I shake my head.

“Speaking of,” Alistair sits up in his chair. “You sent a private jet for her?” he questions, almost offended.

“Nevada is farther away than D.C.,” I remind him with an annoyed tone. “Were you expecting your own plane?”

“Of course not,” Alistair scoffs. “My point is that a) you brought her here, and b) you sent a private plane.”

“Is there some cryptic meaning here that I’m not getting because a) she’s Evangeline’s friend, and b) it was last minute.” I glare at him.

“The point is you seem to be doing a lot of things for Evangeline lately.” Alistair takes a puff of the cigar and cocks a skeptical eyebrow.

I gesture for him to continue.

“A little birdie told me you gave her a private viewing of a priceless artifact at the National Archives Museum.” He gives me a smug smile and then tries to make a smoke ring.

“If you’re referring to the Emerson letters, then I’m guessing Bethany told Caroline and it became dinner gossip at the Van der Walt home?” I speculate, already knowing the answer.

“D.C. is a very small town, Darren.”

As if I don’t already know that. “I wanted to make up for what I did to get her here,” I impart with a shrug.

“Are you sure it’s nothing more than your guilty conscience?” Alistair asks, drumming his fingers on the arm of the chair.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I question, with a bit of edge to my tone.

Alistair shrugs, tapping the cigar against the ashtray. “Evangeline is a very beautiful woman. Exceptional, really. But I think you’re letting that five-million-dollar pussy work its way into more than just your bed.”

Alistair is my friend and he means well. “I would tread carefully if I were you, Alistair,” I warn.

He throws his hands in the air in mock surrender, his brows furrowed. “You know I only want good things for you,” he explains, “but what happens when the contract is up?”

“About that.” I get up from the chair and walk over to the patio doors looking out at the dock, Evangeline’s blonde hair visible in the distance as she and Cleo sit in the Adirondack chairs. They look to be in deep conversation.

“I want you to do something for me.” I turn to face him.

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