Page 6 of Grift

Someone clears his voice, and I look up to see Callan.

His cool blue eyes take me in, move to the woman I’m standing next to, and widen ever-so-slightly.

I glare. Hands off, asshole. Mine.

One eyebrow raises.

“Jessica, let me introduce you to my brother Callan. Callan, this is…” I don’t get to finish my sentence.

“Ms. Kensington, of course. It’s always a pleasure. Forgive me if you would, but I need to borrow my brother here for a bit.”

Kensington.

The name hits me like a detonating bomb.

Shit. My eyes follow the couple that was complaining about her father a foot behind her. My first instinct is to destroy them, but as I feel the skin on my knuckles pull tight, it’s not lost on me that the handiwork she was casually commenting on is from when I beat her brother almost to death earlier tonight.

Clearly my instincts about bad people endangering this woman aren’t wrong.

Fuck. It’s always so complicated.

In just that briefest of moments, something about her sparkle, her intensity, her openness made me feel alive. Knowing that she is a Kensington – and off-limits – is a blow.

She clearly knows who Callan is. Her smile molds into a practiced neutral greeting, but she is assessing me with eyes that are sharper and less kind than a few minutes ago.

“Enjoy your evening,” she says, voice cool and turns quickly away.

I still can’t take my eyes off the cascade of that dress over her curves, and the elegant motion of her hips swaying as she leaves me behind.

“Romeo, let’s move,” Callan sneers.

I whirl on him, and whatever’s on my face gives him pause. He just shakes his head and gestures to the side area, a hallway off the ballroom where the casino’s high-end board rooms are.

We glide through the crowd and down a small hall to one of the executive meeting rooms. They’re ultra modern with ergonomic chairs and cutting-edge screens wrapping around the perimeter. It’s an unsettling contrast to the ballroom experience.

Senator Kensington is just leaving. He’s practically bursting through the door, like he’s running from Satan himself.

Maybe not far off, when I catch a glimpse of my father’s face through the cracked door.

Kensington doesn’t look angry the way I expected. All the color has drained from his face, and there are tight lines around his eyes and mouth. When he sees me, he comes up short but gives a sharp shake of his head and pushes down the hallway, his phone already moving to his ear. His voice is rapid and in low tones, edged with anger.

Whatever my father has on him is apparently good. But then, if there’s one thing my father’s good at, it’s digging up dirt and finding the worst possible way to use it.

Hopefully this means what happened tonight can be managed without any devastating consequences. Strangely, my mind goes back to Jessica standing in the pool of light.

My father’s grinning when we enter. My mother stands calmly behind him.

“Sit.”

Callan pulls up a chair, while I pull one out for my mother and wait for her to sit. Then I walk to the far end of the table and roll one back and gingerly lower myself into it, legs stretched out. They’re not made for men my size, a fact that I enjoy using to my advantage.

“The situation with Kensington has been handled. There won’t be any issues with the son, even though he’s apparently an inch from death’s door thanks to you. Next time use some fucking self-restraint. More to the point, we reached an agreement about how to proceed with other matters. Namely, the daughter.”

The daughter. The derision in his voice instantly irritates me, and it takes an effort not to point out she has a name.

Jessica. My jaw tightens as I realize that she’s like a butterfly swooping too close to a flame, wings about to be burned away. Even just our proximity for one night apparently is enough to damage her light.

“Some very unfortunate material came to light about the daughter several years ago,” my father is saying. “I won’t go into details now, but let’s just say that the Senator will do anything to suppress it. And so we reached an agreement. It’s a little old fashioned, even I’ll admit. But it gets her off the market and makes her no longer his problem. We take on that liability as he moves into the next few critical months of positioning the older son for a senate run and wraps up his own storied career on a high note. And with her as a Carney, that will ensure that Kensington’s reputation protection machine extends to us, especially as the older son starts his march toward the White House. No threats to the gambling license, investments, and no more noise about investigations.”

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