Page 13 of Paint the Town, Dove
“You know what would bephenomenal?”A commanding voice echoed through the marbled lobby. Sharp footsteps tapped against its polished floor.
By now our entire team was settled behind us, and without even a glance, I could tell who held everyone’s attention.
“Mr. Turner,” I extended a hand as he approached. He didn’t take it.
OoooI bit my fucking tongue, betting my life Abe Turner got a kick out of making other people feel small.
Other people, not me.
Not Scarlett Emory-Blake.
Abe was a smidge taller than Ryden, maybe six-two or six-three. I’d seen him enough times over Zoom calls but never in person.Lucky me.
Sure, he tookimpeccable care of himself. Dark brown hair threaded with grey, eyes an intense deep blue, not light like the girl behind the desk. But with a personality like that, well…you always compensate for something, don’t you.
That predatory look swept over me before Abe turned his attention to Ryden. “I’m not impressed, Mr. Spectre.”
This guy.
Abe wasn’t the type of man who received backlash, he dished it out. So I took great,greatpleasure in stepping up to bat. “All this talk of impressions, Mr. Turner, but were you not the one pressed for time?”
Maybe that comment could’ve landed me in the waiting room with a paper cup of cold coffee. I mean, it had before. But I didn’t care. For years and years I’d been on Ryden’s watch, soaring over him ready for an attack. Weprotectedeach other – for over a decade, we were all we had.
Eagle and Dove.
Destined to fight the great fight.
Together.
Abe tilted his head, amused. “I am on a tight schedule.” He turned on his heel. “Follow me.”
He flicked up his wrist, adjusting the golden band of a Rolex. “Annabelle?”
The girl behind the desk piped up like an obedient little soldier. “Yes, sir? Anything I can do?”
A loud clap almost made me flinch.Almost.
Abe never slowed pace as he pointed towards the young receptionist. “Pack your things, be out by five. You do nothing for me or GQ.”
A deafening silence followed. No one said a word.
I wasn’t surprised. This industry was brimming with atrocities. It’d be a cold day in hell to find a sliver of decency.
The receptionist’s muttered pleas trailed us down the corridor, but Abe’s footsteps were louder, weighted with indifference.
“You just hired me two days ago!”
We stopped in front of an archway door, accented with pearlescent crystals and glass. “Dominico Blanchette,” Abe drawled, pulling out a set of gold keys.
“Pardon?” I replied, catching his eye.
He smiled. “The architect who designed these doors, my office in fact.”
A manchild and a narcissist.“Stunning.”
“Expert craftsmanship.” He slid a lone finger down the pane, almost sensually. “More than meets the eye, right, Ms. Blake?”
Ryden cleared his throat, stepping forward. “I could use a drink, Mr. Turner.”
