Page 33 of Deal with the Devil
I step closer to him, my grip tight on the glass of bourbon. “And why would you think that, Baron? Be very clear about what you’re asking.”
Doubt flickers in and out of his features, his pale and pointed face more punchable now than it’s ever been. If we weren’t surrounded by dozens of others in the banquet hall giving canned laughter at each other’s stale jokes as they sip champagne and nibble on canapés, I probably would. I’d love nothing more than to?—
My phone’s vibrating on my nightstand.
I sputter for air as I fight my way out of the tangle of bedsheets. My head’s foggy and my heart’s pounding in my chest. I’ve got no idea what the hell is going on or how I ended up where I am as I snatch my phone and rasp, “Hello?!”
There’s a moment’s pause from the other end, and then comes Adagio, “You good, boss? We were supposed to leave half an hour ago.”
“Leave?” I snarl moodily. “Leave where? Am I supposed to know what you’re talking about?”
“You’re visiting the new warehouse today. The one in Grove.”
I rack my brain for when I possibly agreed to that and come up blank. I come up blank for a lot of stuff, like how I went from last night’s banquet celebrating Metro News’s first quarter to lying in bed late for my day.
“Give me a moment.” I hang up on him and then shout Mara’s name.
She scurries inside only seconds later.
“La prossima volta svegliami!” I yell at her. “Non mi fai dormire.”
Her brows knit in bemusement. “Ma mi hai detto di non svegliarti. Hai detto che volevi riposare.”
…I did?
When the fuck did I say that?
I can’t even bring myself to be mad at Mara anymore. Not that it’s ever easy—she’s been working for me for years and has always done good work.
But that doesn’t mean I’m any less frustrated by what’s going on. I leave Mara to make my bed and tidy up the rest of the room only to discover I’m not done with the surprises this morning.
The shirt I’d worn last night is soaking in the sink, the water tainted red from what appears to beblood.
I fish it out and hold it up to study it, more lost than ever.
It’s like the morning at the Echelon all over again. The other day in the boardroom, where I’d lost place and time and emerged in the middle of a meeting.
Each time confused. Each time with no recollection of what was going on.
A pattern seems to be emerging, and I’m not sure it’s one I like.
I drop the soaked-through shirt back to the sink, water splashing over the edges of the basin, and focus on getting cleaned up for the morning.
A hot shower and change of clothes later, I find a text I sent myself at two in the morning:
Find. Her.
Tension gathers in my muscles, making me go rigid. I press my thumb down on the screen and promptly delete the text as if it never existed.
I’ve been trying harder to get more sleep, though if you compared my sleep schedule to the average person it would still be laughable. Obviously, I’ve got to do better.
Portia’s disappearance is making me lose my mind.
Adagio is waiting downstairs in the town car. He’s uncharacteristically silent for the first few miles we ride through Newport.
“You sure you’re good with this tour, boss?” Adagio asks suddenly. “We could always postpone it another day.”
“Why wouldn’t I be good with it? If today is what we planned for, then today is what we’ll do.”
