outraged—which wasn’t too far of a stretch. He’d always known Winston would eventually target Ruby with his greed. He just wasn’t ready for it yet. “My plane?”
“Technically it’s company property. I don’t have a choice. People aren’t buying or selling art these days, which slows our business down quite a bit, I’ve got claims piling up in the millions now, and it’s getting harder to…”
“Harder to what?” Asprey asked, struggling to keep his voice flat.
Winston got to his feet. “It’s nothing. You wouldn’t understand—what with all the flitting in and out of here like work is some kind of party. And where is Graff? I haven’t seen him in months.”
That’s because Graff is a ticking time bomb. Asprey might be able to face Winston and pretend to be his normal, carefree self, but Graff’s frown was a permanent fixture these days. One wrong twitch and his whole head was bound to go off. The closest he got to the place was having breakfast every morning at a restaurant across the street. He said he liked to keep an eye on the place—and on Winston—if only from a distance.
“Last I heard, he was in Hawaii, nursing his wounded pride.”
“Hawaii?”
Asprey pulled an innocent face. “Don’t look at me. You’re the one who won’t let him help run the company—what did you expect? You know Dad always intended for you two to be partners.”
“Yeah, well, Dad didn’t exactly leave things in a good way, did he?” Winston raised his voice, clearly losing his calm.
“Nope, I guess not.”
“I do appreciate you landing the Roget estate,” Winston ventured.
“It’s not landed yet,” Asprey warned. The last thing he needed was for Winston to go nosing around that account. It was a real estate, and it was in probate, but it would take the total sum of a five-minute phone call for Winston to realize Asprey had been lying about Veronica.
“If you see Graff, tell him the offer still stands.”
Asprey pretended to look thoughtful. “Do you mean the offer to let him bail the company out in exchange for yet another nominal title with no real power, or do you mean the offer to ’bury his goddamned tightfisted morality somewhere you won’t ever have to see it again’?”
Winston lifted up his finger, pointing it at Asprey like he was about to mutter yet another ineffective and blustery curse. But all he said was, “You’ve always taken his side in things. Always.”
Asprey shrugged into his coat jacket and gestured with his head, indicating he was on his way out. “That’s because no matter how many times Graff might act like a dick, his motivations are in the right place. How many of us can say that?”
Not me, that’s for sure.
“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a hot date with a cool blonde, and I don’t intend to miss it.”
Winston moved out of the way, letting Asprey by. “I bet you do.” He paused, calling after him, “You know, I sometimes think that being you must be the nicest thing in the world. You don’t care about anything or anyone, do you?”
“You know me,” Asprey said, his face almost cracking with the effort it took to remain unconcerned. “Always there for a good time—and never for anything else. You should try it sometime, Winston. You’re looking a little rough around the edges.”
Chapter Eight
As predicted, the reconnaissance portion of the VanHuett job made Asprey long to stab a fork into his eyes, if only to alleviate the boredom for a while. He’d gone with birdwatcher for this particular stakeout, which meant he could carry binoculars through the park without attracting too much attention. Unfortunately, it also meant he had to pretend to be interested in birds.
They chirped. They flew. He had yet to find anything else remotely interesting about them.
He settled onto a rock that provided him with a view of both an elm tree at its full leafy height and the apartment building he needed to watch. Thanks to Tiffany’s
“Technically it’s company property. I don’t have a choice. People aren’t buying or selling art these days, which slows our business down quite a bit, I’ve got claims piling up in the millions now, and it’s getting harder to…”
“Harder to what?” Asprey asked, struggling to keep his voice flat.
Winston got to his feet. “It’s nothing. You wouldn’t understand—what with all the flitting in and out of here like work is some kind of party. And where is Graff? I haven’t seen him in months.”
That’s because Graff is a ticking time bomb. Asprey might be able to face Winston and pretend to be his normal, carefree self, but Graff’s frown was a permanent fixture these days. One wrong twitch and his whole head was bound to go off. The closest he got to the place was having breakfast every morning at a restaurant across the street. He said he liked to keep an eye on the place—and on Winston—if only from a distance.
“Last I heard, he was in Hawaii, nursing his wounded pride.”
“Hawaii?”
Asprey pulled an innocent face. “Don’t look at me. You’re the one who won’t let him help run the company—what did you expect? You know Dad always intended for you two to be partners.”
“Yeah, well, Dad didn’t exactly leave things in a good way, did he?” Winston raised his voice, clearly losing his calm.
“Nope, I guess not.”
“I do appreciate you landing the Roget estate,” Winston ventured.
“It’s not landed yet,” Asprey warned. The last thing he needed was for Winston to go nosing around that account. It was a real estate, and it was in probate, but it would take the total sum of a five-minute phone call for Winston to realize Asprey had been lying about Veronica.
“If you see Graff, tell him the offer still stands.”
Asprey pretended to look thoughtful. “Do you mean the offer to let him bail the company out in exchange for yet another nominal title with no real power, or do you mean the offer to ’bury his goddamned tightfisted morality somewhere you won’t ever have to see it again’?”
Winston lifted up his finger, pointing it at Asprey like he was about to mutter yet another ineffective and blustery curse. But all he said was, “You’ve always taken his side in things. Always.”
Asprey shrugged into his coat jacket and gestured with his head, indicating he was on his way out. “That’s because no matter how many times Graff might act like a dick, his motivations are in the right place. How many of us can say that?”
Not me, that’s for sure.
“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a hot date with a cool blonde, and I don’t intend to miss it.”
Winston moved out of the way, letting Asprey by. “I bet you do.” He paused, calling after him, “You know, I sometimes think that being you must be the nicest thing in the world. You don’t care about anything or anyone, do you?”
“You know me,” Asprey said, his face almost cracking with the effort it took to remain unconcerned. “Always there for a good time—and never for anything else. You should try it sometime, Winston. You’re looking a little rough around the edges.”
Chapter Eight
As predicted, the reconnaissance portion of the VanHuett job made Asprey long to stab a fork into his eyes, if only to alleviate the boredom for a while. He’d gone with birdwatcher for this particular stakeout, which meant he could carry binoculars through the park without attracting too much attention. Unfortunately, it also meant he had to pretend to be interested in birds.
They chirped. They flew. He had yet to find anything else remotely interesting about them.
He settled onto a rock that provided him with a view of both an elm tree at its full leafy height and the apartment building he needed to watch. Thanks to Tiffany’s
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