Page 95 of Bombshell

“I’ve got something I need to do real quick,” Cyrus says, “See you upstairs?”

“Sure thing,” I say.

“That was too fucking close,” Jack says. “You okay, Luca?”

“Yes,” Luca says under his breath. “He’s going into his office now.”

My heart feels like it’s beating in my throat, but I force myself to go over to the bar.

“I see his hands. He’s punching in the access code,” Jack shares.

The bartender finishes making a drink and turns to me, rubbing the antique, polished zinc bar absentmindedly with a rag. “What can I get for you, sir?”

“Can I order room service here?”

“Of course, Mr. Ford,” the bartender says without missing a beat. I have to hand it to the Eaton family. The service really is excellent. I don’t even have to tell him where to send the drinks.

“Whiskey neat. And a club soda with lime.”

“I’ll send it right up, sir.”

I wait until I’m in the elevator, alone, before I ask, “Do we have it?”

“I’m slowing down the replay and bumping up the contrast to deal with low light,” Jack says patiently. “You’re much better at planting cameras, Ford.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Luca coos. “I’m killing it today.”

“I have the code,” Jack says, ignoring him. “Two three four seven.”

“I guess I’m going to go have a drink with my old roommate without strangling him,” I say through gritted teeth, flexing my fingers. All I have to do now is keep Cyrus busy while Luca lifts the data. I can feel my fight-or-flight reflex let off, feel my eyelids get heavy. There’s no feeling quite like an adrenaline hangover. Maybe I should have ordered coffee at the bar.

I’m waiting in the kitchen when Cyrus knocks on the door a few minutes later. Room service dropped the drinks off almost as fast as if I’d waited for them at the bar.

“Jack, are we live?” I ask.

“Yes.”

I hand Cyrus his drink as soon as I open the door, trying to give the impression I’ve already had a couple. “How the fuck have you been, Cyrus?” I ask, playing the part of old college buddies finally catching up.

“Not bad. I’m not gonna lie, Sterling. We kept saying we’d get together, but I didn’t think you really meant it.”

“Why not? We’re both busy is all. Hard to find the time.”

“Right,” he says, before his head bobs with a question. “Where’s Adair, anyway?”

“With Poppy. They went shopping or something. Didn’t you know?”

“I don’t fucking keep track of that stuff. I’ve got enough to worry about, you know?” he says, looking around the suite. “I’m glad Adair’s finally moving in here. I can keep an eye on her.”

I resist the nearly primal urge to beat him into oblivion. Something tells me that there’s cameras in her suite, and Cyrus is looking forward to the footage. “Probably.”

Cyrus drops into a chair in the living room, surveying the boxes Adair left strewn, half unpacked everywhere. “You planning on staying in Nashville? Last time we spoke, you weren’t sure.”

It’s a perfectly innocuous question for him to ask, but I already know he wants me to leave town. At first I thought he wanted me out of the way to make another play for Adair. But that’s probably not it. He has to know she’s never going to screw Poppy like that. He tried once. No, he wants me gone before one of us figures out he was behind that video five years ago. He’s scared of me. People with lots of secrets have lots to lose—and Cyrus has more secrets than he knows what to do with.

“I’ve gone back and forth. Actually, I wanted to ask you about something Adair mentioned,” I say, taking a seat across from him on the couch. I take a sip of my club soda.

“Oh?” He takes a sip of his whiskey.