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“Please,” Laurel interrupted, not comfortable with another interview while dressed like she was a teenager at a sleepover. “Give me a moment to get dressed, and I’ll be right with you. Smith, would you please make everyone some coffee or offer them something to drink?”

  She didn’t wait for Smith to acknowledge her request. He wanted to be a part of her life. Well, she wasn’t the most domestic type of woman he could have found. It was better that he discovered that sooner rather than later.

  It took her less than five minutes to change into decent clothes, brush her teeth, and draw a brush through her tangled bird’s nest. She grabbed a light shade of lipstick, spreading a thin layer on her lips to give her some form of color. There were no sounds of gunshots, raised voices, or Smith calling out for her to phone Meg, which meant the men were keeping things civilized. The relative quietness also told her that no imminent arrests were on the horizon.

  “So,” Laurel said, breezing into the kitchen wearing a pair of jeans and a red buttoned-down blouse. The outfit gave her the air of confidence, but comfort was her intent. At least, that’s how she hoped they viewed her attitude. “What are these questions that you have for me, detectives?”

  She might have made assumptions a little too soon, because Smith appeared ready to throw the men out on their collective asses. That wouldn’t have gone over well, and the consequences would have been a never-ending legal battle where Meg was paid enough to afford another pair of those gorgeous designer high heels. She also noted that no one was drinking any coffee.

  “We would actually prefer to speak with you alone, Ms. Calanthe.”

  It didn’t take a genius to figure out that specific appeal was the one that had riled Smith. She couldn’t blame him, either. A flash of Brad’s unfocused eyes flickered in her mind, breaking her concentration. She’d done her best not to think about the horror of what she’d witnessed, but nothing seemed to eradicate the disturbing images that floated back to the surface.

  She pulled out a chair and joined Detective Nielsen at the table. Smith remained standing, his arms crossed as he leaned back against the kitchen counter. As for Detective Mancini, he remained standing with his gaze focused solely on Smith.

  “Since you didn’t call me down to the station nor notify my attorney, I can assume this isn’t an official interview.” Laurel debated on whether or not Meg should be present, but she wanted to hear what direction this line of questioning was headed before she made that call. “What is it that you’re—”

  “You do realize that Laurel is being represented by Meg Preston. Questioning her without her attorney present is suspect at best. She also reserves the right to end this visit at any time.”

  Laurel wasn’t surprised that Smith didn’t want her to say anything without representation. But she also wanted to help these detectives in any way that she could, provided that they kept an open mind about who could be responsible. She’d worked with almost every employee at the firm for many, many years. She couldn’t imagine any of them committing murder, let alone in a manner so hideous as this.

  “We understand that you wouldn’t want your girlfriend here to say something that could incriminate you, but the world doesn’t revolve around you, Mr. Gallo.” Detective Mancini had been a little rough around the edges when he’d questioned her, but his obvious dislike for Smith made her uncomfortable. Laurel immediately sought out Detective Nielsen’s gaze, silently telling him that was the wrong tact to take under the circumstances. “This has to do with Cynthia Ellsworth and her relationship with one of your high net worth individuals.”

  “You mean Gareth Nicollet?”

  “Yes,” Detective Nielsen replied, taking over the conversation. It didn’t help divert Detective Mancini’s focus on what he perceived as a connection to the murder. She’d been with Smith at the time Brad had been attacked in his office. There was no reason for that type of hostility. “You see, we have it on good authority that Gareth Nicollet threatened Mr. Manon’s life not one week ago.”

  “You happen to be good friends with the same Mr. Nicollet, isn’t that right?”

  “Mancini, why don’t you go and pull the car around?” Detective Nielsen stood from the table, not giving the other man the ability to refuse. “I’ll finish up here.”

  At first, Laurel wasn’t so sure that Detective Mancini would do as Nielsen suggested. Technically, it wasn’t a suggestion. She was honestly surprised when the man turned on the heel of his well-worn dress shoe and made his way to her front door. No one spoke until after the latch caught, signaling he’d finally vacated the apartment.

  “Fred, you want to tell me what his problem is?” Smith asked, not the type of man to become someone else’s punching bag. “This seems to be some personal beef he’s got, but I’m at a loss here. I’ve had my fill of insults and innuendos. My next step won’t be talking to you about your partner’s behavior.”

  “Mancini is new and out to prove to the brass that he won’t favor anyone based on their last name or checking account.” Detective Nielsen seemed to debate on whether or not to share more information. He chose wisely. “He also had a run-in with your father earlier regarding Sebastian.”

  It was rare that Smith and Laurel discussed family during the times they were together, but she was aware that Sebastian and Solomon were his brothers. Sebastian was the youngest, having just graduated college and was supposed to be studying for the bar. She’d gotten that information from a brief phone call that Smith had with his father one evening when they were together.

  “What did Sebastian do this time?”

  There was a disappointment in Smith’s tone that was unrecognizable. She resisted the urge to reach out to comfort him, but then realized she didn’t have to do that anymore…not if they were truly serious about going public with their relationship.

  Were they going public?

  Was now the right time for anything?

  Laurel instinctively pushed back the chair and took the three steps to where Smith was still leaning against the counter. She joined him, slipping her fingers underneath his crossed arms. Her heart warmed when his hand covered hers in appreciation.

  “He got into a fight over at First Ave. Listen, I’m not here to discuss your brother. I’m here because of the threat Gareth Nicollet made on Brad Manon’s life. I need answers.”

  First Avenue was a famous hotspot in the city, and one that Laurel frequented often with her friends. She’d seen the famous younger Gallo there a time or two. He’d yet to grow up, and he certainly didn’t handle his liquor very well.

  As for Gareth, he was a true philanthropist. He was the head of multiple charities and traveled the world extensively, spreading the wealth of his family in strategic locations. His time, effort, and contributions to veterans, the homeless, and those in need were beyond astounding.

  “Gareth is a passionate man about many things,” Smith conceded, declining to mention the fact that Detective Mancini had been most likely forced to drop charges against Sebastian. “If he said anything of the sort, it was most likely taken out of context.”

  “I agree.” Laurel recalled Cynthia having an argument with Gareth over their relationship. They dated occasionally on the down low, but she recalled Cynthia saying she’d had a run-in with Brad regarding the fact that she was technically the compliance officer dating a client. She’d mentioned it to Gareth, who’d stopped by the office while doing business in the city. It was rare, but he’d done it just the same. His reaction to Brad’s suggestion hadn’t gone over so well, but Gareth hadn’t meant he would literally kill Brad. “Gareth is a great guy. Ask anyone. I recall that specific conversation, and it was a meaningless turn of a phrase.”

  Marilyn, no doubt, had filled both of the detectives’ heads with information that she’d dramatized.

  “And Cynthia Ellsworth?” The reason for Detective Nielsen’s visit had finally dawned, and Laurel didn’t appreciate that the police were focusing on her friends or those colleagues she’d worked with over
the years. “What about her? Do you think she’s capable of murdering Brad Manon?”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Smith tossed the empty Chinese containers into Laurel’s trashcan she kept under the sink. It never ceased to amaze him how much food they could pack into one of those little containers. The place two blocks over had the most incredible spring rolls. Apparently, Laurel was a regular and craved the shrimp fried rice as opposed to the regular white that came with nearly every entrée.

  Smith had originally come over to her apartment to ask if she’d mentioned anything to either detective regarding his new business venture, but things had quickly gone down another path the second she’d opened the door wearing short shorts and a nearly see-through t-shirt that left nothing to the imagination. Not that his imagination was very limited. He knew her body better than any woman he’d ever been with.

  She had looked sexy as hell, instantly derailing the primary reason of his visit.

  The frozen breastmilk in her freezer had put a speedbump in his plans to ice her toe before carrying her into the bedroom for mouth to mouth, should she have a need for it. The one thing he should be grateful for was that her necessity to change the subject had clarified where both of them stood in this relationship.

  As for her coming to stand next to him when he was talking about his younger brother, well, that told him she was open to more than a quick fuck after a long workday.

  “I mean, if someone we work with did kill Brad, who do you think could do something so inhumane as to slit Brad’s throat so gruesomely?” Laurel asked, putting the leftover wonton soup in the refrigerator. They’d spent most of the meal discussing this very topic, but he couldn’t prevent his gaze from dropping to the freezer drawer once again. “If I had to pick, I would say Steve. You know, I immediately feel guilty for even thinking that. And I would never, ever say anything to the police along those lines. I’m just glad we put to rest the fact that Cynthia could never hurt anyone, let alone brutally murder someone. Besides, she was at a business dinner until ten o’clock that night. She even joined the hangers-on for cocktails afterward.”

  “Laurel, why is there frozen breastmilk in your freezer? I’m coming up empty trying to imagine why. Please tell me that you don’t use it for coffee creamer.”

  “Oh, that.” Laurel brushed off the unusual item with a wave of her hand. She walked past him and picked up both of their wine glasses, which he’d topped off so that he could toss the bottle into the recycling bin next to the trash. “That’s for the twins. Don’t worry. They’re at their father’s house this weekend.”

  There was rarely a time when Smith was taken by surprise. Those moments were even fewer where he couldn’t form a string of words to form a retort.

  This was one of those times.

  “I’m kidding, Harvard boy. You can breathe again.” Laurel flashed a smile over her shoulder. “One of my neighbors does have twins, but she doesn’t have enough room in her freezer to store a supply of additional bags. And seeing as Auntie Laurel babysits now and then, it seemed practical that I store the overflow allotment here.”

  Smith remained where he was at the kitchen sink, letting her walk into the living room while he wrapped his mind around the image of her holding an infant.

  Who was he kidding?

  The vision itself was almost enough to satisfy what he needed to get over the shock value of her Machiavellian jest.

  Her sense of humor was oddly twisted.

  Laurel never mentioned children before, none of her friends that he knew of had children, and she radiated the fact that she was highly focused on her career. The partnership they were both previously competing for had been all she could focus on for the last three months. This was a side of her that he never knew existed, but a sense of fulfillment washed over him at the thought of what their future could hold with the two of them side by side with an estate in Sands Point.

  The thing of it was that he’d never planned on taking her partnership from her in the first place. Regardless of how he tried to communicate that now, it came out sounding like sour grapes. There had been no doubt that had he dropped out early on in the running someone else would have entered the picture.

  Nature abhors a vacuum.

  Her chances might have been diminished, though.

  He hadn’t been able do that to her.

  Hell, Phil Colbert had chosen two technology stocks that had grown by twenty percent between the two of them in the last few months. Had he chosen to profess any of this aloud, she would have taken offense, and rightly so.

  It wasn’t that he didn’t think she’d earned a spot at that table, but more often than not there were ethereal variables which came into play. Laurel deserved that partnership, she’d worked hard for that partnership, and now it was likely gone forever given what would most likely happen to the company—full divesture of funds to established firms and dissolution of the partnership.

  It wasn’t like people lived forever in the financial world. Most investors had an opportunity to adjust to new partners or key players growing into their positions over time, maintaining continuity within an institution.

  Brad had been the whole show with nobody in the wings.

  “Are you joining me or what?” Laurel called out from the living room. “I can’t promise not to drink your wine if you dally.”

  Smith smiled, liking this casual side of Laurel that she’d always shielded from him. He’d removed his jacket earlier, rolling up his sleeves so that he could eat without staining the cuffs. He’d loosened his tie as well, having no intention of leaving tonight. It was going to be interesting to see what her reaction would be to his proposal of spending the night at her place for once.

  “Boys, girls, or one of each?” Smith pulled his tie from around his neck in one smooth stroke and promptly tossed it onto the coffee table, noticing that she was still holding his wineglass. She was curled up on the couch, her left toe free from her weight. It was still slightly pink, but she was no longer favoring it when she walked. “And how many months?”

  “Why are you even remotely interested?” Laurel asked, skepticism written across her beautiful features.

  Her hair was still down, cascading around her shoulders and catching the light in such a way that her highlights shimmered with a golden hue. She finally offered him his glass when he claimed the cushion next to her.

  “What kind of question is that? Are you questing my intentions?”

  “You’re…I don’t know. You just don’t strike me as the family type.”

  “I’m a damn fine uncle to a niece and nephew,” Smith shared, reaching for her legs to draw them over his lap. He made sure to only massage her good foot. By the way she parted her lips and closed her eyes, he’d made the right choice. “I happen to love kids.”

  “You keep doing that, and I’ll give you as many as you’d like,” Laurel muttered, clearly joking as she had been before. But she had no idea how appealing that thought was to him. He took a sip of the red merlot she’d had on hand to prevent himself from saying something that would give her hesitation. He even took his time savoring the earthy flavor of the grapes. “You have to admit that you being here at my place is off. It feels weird.”

  “What’s so off about it?” Smith rested his left arm across the back of the couch, resting his wineglass on top of the cushion. She’d sunk into the decorative pillow behind her, her hair fanning itself around her like a halo. “Me rubbing your foot? I’ve done that and much more, little minx.”

  Laurel’s light laugh echoed around the comfortable room. Her décor was done in earth tones, but she also had splashes of vibrant colors strategically placed around the room. It was different from his own apartment, which was very sterile in comparison. He hadn’t personally chosen any of the designs. He had a decorator apply the generic yet high-end bachelor package without depending on any particular school of design. Laurel’s touches said a hell of a lot more about her than his package plan said about him.
/>   “Having a conversation other than work or…”

  “Sex?” Smith flashed her a smile. “Sorry, great sex.”

  “You don’t see any issues standing in the way of moving our relationship forward, do you?”

  “And why would I?” Now this was a topic that he could appreciate. “I knew from the moment I walked into your office to introduce myself that there was something between us. It was only natural to see it through to its inevitable conclusion.”

  “Sexual attraction doesn’t mean anything other than a couple might enjoy a good time in bed.” Laurel wasn’t quite as relaxed as her body language led him to believe. Her green eyes were watching him very closely, gauging his reaction to her probes. “What makes you think there’s more to this than that?”

  “And what makes people consider that sex is just copulating?” Smith slowly drew a finger down the underside of her foot. Her toes curled instinctively, the red nails arching due to the stimulating sensation. “What makes you think that what we have is just sex without the obvious intimacy?”

  “I honestly don’t know what kind of intimacy we have,” Laurel whispered, catching on rather quickly that he’d rather show her than tell her. She took another healthy sip of her wine. “We live completely separate lives. Much of which you’ve never questioned before, Smith. It’s rare that our paths cross in everyday life for anything other than great sex.”

  “It doesn’t have to be that way. You just need to invest yourself.” Smith leaned forward and set his wineglass on the coffee table. He then unbuttoned her jeans, slowly sliding the zipper down its golden track. “Is there something stopping you from attending a charity ball with me? I’ve seen you at other social events. You have excellent taste in clothing and apparently have an insatiable shoe fetish.”

  “There’s nothing like buying a brand-new pair of designer heels,” Laurel said somewhat breathlessly. She was holding her wineglass out away from herself so that she didn’t spill any as he slid the denim over her heart-shaped ass. “As a matter of fact, I recall you admiring those red Valentino Garavani heels I got for seventy percent off at Saks. It was a milestone victory of mine.”