Page 7 of War Within
“Then you will stay awake tonight and work on this. If you find anything out, send me a text at the Gala.”
She only nodded, but her eyes were smiling. Why did she find any of it amusing?
“If you can't get the answers I need, I know someone who will be happy to do this for me, and they will digdeepinto it.”
“I got it. I got it.” Her expression turned icy. “I will figure it out.”
It was clear she wanted to do this one, possibly to impress me. I felt I had been a bit harsher with her lately than normal. Just as I was about to dismiss her, I noticed a flash drive on my desk.
“Before you go back to work, Emilio needs this.” I picked the small rectangle up, handing it to her. “Tell him to look at file 682.”
God. Seeing Emilio was not something I had planned on doing today. He made me entirely too uncomfortable. After the encounter the night before, I was convinced he saw through me, but was toying with me before he attacked.
I had called my real boss on the way to work. He informed me Emilio could not be trusted. He made a man of even my boss’s stature nervous. Needless to say, I was not looking forward to the task ahead, no matter how minor. I had to tread cautiously from that moment on.
Trudging reluctantly to the office Emilio had claimed for the day, I dragged my nails along the chair rail. Maybe I was hoping the walls would swallow me alive. All I knew, was I did not want to be alone in his presence. The door to his temporary office was wide open. Carefully peeking in the doorway, I tapped my knuckle lightly on the metal frame.
Without looking up from his laptop, he waved. “Yeah, come in.”
The moment I stepped into the room, he slammed his laptop closed and stood. Strutting to the front of the desk, he overlapped his arms across his white, leather jacket. With only a simple stare, his hazel-grey eyes seemed to suck the entire life-force from my body. I had a feeling he was the definition of a monster.
“Mr. Rovati…eh, I mean, the other Mr. Rovati, asked me to give this to you.” I held out the small flash drive, unsure how to address the brother.
He did not take it from my fingers. Instead, he held his hand out. I dropped it in the center of his palm. Wrapping his fingers around it, he slid it in his pocket.
“Oh, and he said to look at file 682?”
“Ok.” He nodded once, mumbling as he returned to his seat. He began gathering up his laptop and stuffing it into a bag. “I’ll be out of town for a few days. I have some things in here I don’t want touched. Make sure this office stays locked while I'm away.”
It was the most the man had ever spoken to me. Unsure how else to respond, I only offered a brief thumbs up. I glanced toward the doorway for a moment. When my eyes flicked back on him, he was narrowing his gaze on me.
Swallowing hard, I smiled politely, backing most of the way out of the office before bumping into the door trim. “Oops. Yes, sir. I’ll keep everyone out.” I did not wait another moment to see how much longer he planned to stare. I hurried back to my desk, fighting exhaustion for the rest of the workday.
After my shift, I felt more alert. Before I drove home to tackle the leftover work, I strolled down the sidewalk to my favorite swanky bar, Silver. Contrary to the name, there was no silver. The ambiance of the establishment was a cigar and whisky lounge meets the boardroom. It was a sophisticated and popularhappy hourlocation where the drinks were overpriced, but potent. Usually, it was crowded with gorgeous, wealthy men, stopping by for a quick drink on the way home to their families.
I surveyed the room for any possible sign of my real boss or others I knew. Groups of chatting people were spread throughout the room, both at the bar and tables. Servers weaved through the tight openings of oversized leather furniture and dark end tables, delivering drinks and snacks to cheerful patrons.
Normally, if I had come alone, I would have chosen a seat at the bar. Stretching my neck around a couple of chatting women, I spotted an open seat close to the opposite end. It seemed to be the only available stool, so I hurried over before anyone else claimed it.
A bartender promptly approached with a wide grin. “What can I get for you?”
“Vodka and Cranberry, please.”
“Long day?” A deep voice came from my right.
“Are you talking to me?” I pivoted toward the gentleman next to me.
“Yeah, I am.” Reaching over, he pulled the stool back. “Have a seat.” His caramel eyes gleamed as he offered a grin, running his fingers through his disheveled, espresso-colored pompadour.
I plopped down, propping my elbow on the bar. “Yes.” I giggled. “A very long day, in fact.”
The bartender set my drink down on the logo embossed napkin.
“That’s on me, Aaron.” The man next to me, pointed to my drink.
The bartender nodded before hurrying to the other end of the counter.
Rotating my stool, I shook my head. “You didn’t have to d—”
