steak to his mouth. Stiles was sitting in the same chair Landry had used and had ordered the same meal—he’d shown up ten minutes after Landry left and hadn’t stopped eating or said a word since the food was served. “Taste good?” he asked, glad to see Stiles enjoying himself.
Stiles finished chewing and swallowed, then leaned back and patted his stomach gently. “I don’t think I’ve ever tasted anything better in my life.”
“I’m just glad you
have
your life,” Gillette said quietly, leaning over and touching Stiles on the shoulder. “I was worried about you.” Worried was an understatement. Stiles had gone critical several times during the week after he was shot. The hospital chaplain had read him the last rites twice. “It was my fault you got hit.”
Stiles pointed at Gillette. “That’s crap and you know it. I signed up to protect you, you paid me a lot of money to do it, and I took the money. I did it out of my own free will, out of complete self-interest. It’s my job, I’d do it again.” He paused. “For a guy who’s big on personal accountability, I can’t believe you said that.”
Stiles was right. It was his job, it was what he was supposed to do, and he had taken money. But right now, that didn’t seem to matter. “I still feel bad.”
“Then pay me more money.”
“Yeah, good one.” Gillette looked around the restaurant, checking for his security detail—over by the bus stand. Since Whitman and McGuire had tried to kill him last fall, he checked every few minutes whenever he was in public. It had been ten months, but the most dangerous person involved in the Laurel Energy conspiracy—Tom McGuire—was still out there somewhere. And if Faraday was right, McGuire might be close. “You’re my friend, Quentin, my good friend.” Gillette took a measured breath. “I don’t let many people in,” he admitted, his voice going low. “I can’t.”
“I know.”
“Some people think I’m lonely,” Gillette murmured.
“I know,” Stiles agreed. “They want the money and all the perks, but they don’t know what you go through. The pressure of making so many important decisions all the time. It’s got to be tough.”
“It is sometimes.” Stiles understood. One of the few people who did. Gillette had to at least appear to be immune to it, but there were moments when he felt the walls closing in around him, and it felt good to tell someone that.
“It could have been very different,” Stiles pointed out. “The guy aimed at the first person he saw in that room. It could have been
you
in the hospital for the last ten months.”
“Maybe.” Gillette replayed the scene in his head for a few moments. It had been the wildest few seconds he had ever experienced. “But the most important thing is, you’re okay. Judging by the way you’re inhaling that steak, anyway.”
“It’ll be a while until I’m a hundred percent, but meals like this will definitely speed up the recovery.”
“Good. Well, since you’re feeling better, let’s talk business.”
Stiles nodded. “Sure.”
“First of all, I want to close our deal.”
“Our deal?”
“Yeah, for your company.”
Stiles’s jaw dropped. “I didn’t think you were serious.”
“When have you ever known me to be anything but serious about Everest business?”
“Not often.”
“Try never,” Gillette said sharply. “Look, McGuire and Company will pay five million dollars for a hundred percent of QS. I spoke to Craig West this morning, and he’s fine with it.”
“If he wasn’t, he’d be fired.”
“It’s not like that.”
“Sure it is, Chris. Craig knows where his bread’s buttered.”
“Whatever,” Gillette muttered. But Stiles was right. It hadn’t even crossed his mind that West would object to the deal.
“You’re doing me a favor,” Stiles said. “A five-million-dollar favor, and I don’t want you getting in trouble with your investors. People get pretty crazy when it comes to
Stiles finished chewing and swallowed, then leaned back and patted his stomach gently. “I don’t think I’ve ever tasted anything better in my life.”
“I’m just glad you
have
your life,” Gillette said quietly, leaning over and touching Stiles on the shoulder. “I was worried about you.” Worried was an understatement. Stiles had gone critical several times during the week after he was shot. The hospital chaplain had read him the last rites twice. “It was my fault you got hit.”
Stiles pointed at Gillette. “That’s crap and you know it. I signed up to protect you, you paid me a lot of money to do it, and I took the money. I did it out of my own free will, out of complete self-interest. It’s my job, I’d do it again.” He paused. “For a guy who’s big on personal accountability, I can’t believe you said that.”
Stiles was right. It was his job, it was what he was supposed to do, and he had taken money. But right now, that didn’t seem to matter. “I still feel bad.”
“Then pay me more money.”
“Yeah, good one.” Gillette looked around the restaurant, checking for his security detail—over by the bus stand. Since Whitman and McGuire had tried to kill him last fall, he checked every few minutes whenever he was in public. It had been ten months, but the most dangerous person involved in the Laurel Energy conspiracy—Tom McGuire—was still out there somewhere. And if Faraday was right, McGuire might be close. “You’re my friend, Quentin, my good friend.” Gillette took a measured breath. “I don’t let many people in,” he admitted, his voice going low. “I can’t.”
“I know.”
“Some people think I’m lonely,” Gillette murmured.
“I know,” Stiles agreed. “They want the money and all the perks, but they don’t know what you go through. The pressure of making so many important decisions all the time. It’s got to be tough.”
“It is sometimes.” Stiles understood. One of the few people who did. Gillette had to at least appear to be immune to it, but there were moments when he felt the walls closing in around him, and it felt good to tell someone that.
“It could have been very different,” Stiles pointed out. “The guy aimed at the first person he saw in that room. It could have been
you
in the hospital for the last ten months.”
“Maybe.” Gillette replayed the scene in his head for a few moments. It had been the wildest few seconds he had ever experienced. “But the most important thing is, you’re okay. Judging by the way you’re inhaling that steak, anyway.”
“It’ll be a while until I’m a hundred percent, but meals like this will definitely speed up the recovery.”
“Good. Well, since you’re feeling better, let’s talk business.”
Stiles nodded. “Sure.”
“First of all, I want to close our deal.”
“Our deal?”
“Yeah, for your company.”
Stiles’s jaw dropped. “I didn’t think you were serious.”
“When have you ever known me to be anything but serious about Everest business?”
“Not often.”
“Try never,” Gillette said sharply. “Look, McGuire and Company will pay five million dollars for a hundred percent of QS. I spoke to Craig West this morning, and he’s fine with it.”
“If he wasn’t, he’d be fired.”
“It’s not like that.”
“Sure it is, Chris. Craig knows where his bread’s buttered.”
“Whatever,” Gillette muttered. But Stiles was right. It hadn’t even crossed his mind that West would object to the deal.
“You’re doing me a favor,” Stiles said. “A five-million-dollar favor, and I don’t want you getting in trouble with your investors. People get pretty crazy when it comes to
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