House of agnes, p.6
House of Agnes, page 6
“Do you—?”
Just then, Lola’s phone vibrated with a new e-mail notification. She grabbed her cell off the kitchen table. Although it was a little early, she’d been waiting for a reply to one of her recent clients about getting paid. The promised two thousand dollars was now a week late.
“Gimme a sec,” she said, opening the e-mail app on her phone.
But it wasn’t a reply from the magazine.
It was her bank.
“This is weird.”
“What? Another of your old hookups stalking you again?”
“That was one time, J. One time…” Lola replied with only half her mind on what Jamika was saying. She had to blink at the information on the screen again. It had to be some kind of mistake.
“So, what’s got that look on your face?”
The notification of deposit from her bank stood out glaringly on the screen. And no, that client who owed her the cash didn’t have access to this account.
“Someone just put twenty-five thousand dollars in my checking account a few minutes ago.” She scrolled through the rest of the information, her mouth dropping open. “It doesn’t say anything here about who it’s from.”
Jamika’s chair shrieked across the floor as she pushed back from the table to stand behind Lola. Her hot breath smelled like cranberry chocolate chip muffins and coffee. “That’s a lot of damn money!”
“It has to be some kind of mistake.” A really nice mistake, but still.
“What kind of mistake is this, though?” Jamika pointed at the phone’s screen with a buttery finger. “Whoever did this has to have your name and account number.” She pulled back, a smirk lifting the corners of her mouth. “Do you think Agnes wants your ass that badly?”
“I don’t think it’s her. From what happened today, she barely wants me in there at all, and if that Clare person had any say in it, I wouldn’t even be allowed back for the interview.”
Jamika’s smirk slid away. “Yeah.” She settled back on her side of the table. “Then what’s this about?”
“I’m going to the bank to find out.”
“Good call,” Jamika said. “Although they’ll probably think you’re weird for saying you don’t want a huge deposit in your account.”
“I mean, my Nigerian prince could’ve finally delivered on all those e-mail promises, and I’m just worrying for no reason.”
“Nice thought but that’s doubtful. It’s somebody’s mistake. When they realize they gave the money to the wrong person, I sure as hell don’t want you to repay twenty-five grand with a bullet to the kneecaps.”
Lola shuddered. “A little dramatic, don’t you think?”
Maybe not, though. The biggest bank balance she’d ever had in her life stared back at her from her phone’s screen, a temptation and a warning.
“I bet you don’t know a soul who’d want to give you this kind of money,” Jamika said.
That was sadly true. Some of Lola’s clients barely wanted to pay her the few hundred dollars they owed.
“This is weird as fuck, and I’d rather you return the money before some gangster comes after you for it.” Jamika gave her a stern look. “As a cop, I support that move.”
“Fine, fine. I already said I’ll go to the bank.”
“To give the money back, right?” Jamika’s eyes narrowed. “I’d rather you keep your kneecaps right where they are, thank you very much.”
“To give the money back,” Lola confirmed. Shaking her head at her friend, she put her phone away. This afternoon, she’d make some time to go to the bank and sort everything out. “Now, where were we?”
Chapter 6
“We practice our letters today.” Twisting in the grip of her seat belt, Gretchen stretched past Agnes and squinted out at the rain through the Lincoln Town Car’s window. The chilly fall morning, which mostly yielded views of other cars lumbering along with them through traffic, drifted slowly past. “I can write my name already, though.”
“Good girl. I’m glad our lessons didn’t go to waste.” With a practiced move, Agnes quieted the phone vibrating in her dress pocket but didn’t take it out. On their rides to school, she always gave Gretchen her complete attention. “What’s your plan for class then since you already know what to do?”
“Maybe help other kids.” A frown pulled down the corners of Gretchen’s mouth. “But nobody likes a know-it-all.”
“Especially the people who don’t know anything at all,” Whit agreed from her seat on the opposite side of the car. Today, she wore all gray. Heels, slacks, pale blouse, and a fussy little sweater. Her lipstick was a matte dark violet.
Gretchen stuck out her lower lip, looking thoughtful. “Maybe I’ll just pretend.”
“No, love. Don’t diminish yourself for other people.” Agnes could see Gretchen wrinkle her forehead at the unfamiliar word. She waited for Gretchen to ask what it meant before answering. “It means to make yourself seem smaller or less-than just to make somebody else feel better.”
“Oh! Nope.” Her lips made a popping sound, and she looked up from the lap desk where she’d been scribbling her name with different-colored crayons, trying to write it in the cursive she and Agnes had practiced weeks ago. “I don’t want to do that, Nessa.”
“Good. You could ask Mrs. Parran to give you some different work to do, something else to practice.”
Gretchen frowned, and Agnes laughed. Like her, Gretchen wasn’t interested in doing more work for no reason. “You could just practice like you’re doing right now.” She gestured to the lap desk and the various versions of Gretchen’s name that looked like something a child twice her age would write. “Make it pretty for yourself.”
“Okay,” she said. “I’ll do that.” She grinned over at Agnes while Whit stifled a smile. Water splashed up against the window in a rippling wave as the car glided through a puddle. Gretchen giggled. “Splash!”
Gretchen was such a mix of mature and childlike that Agnes was never bored. Sure, she’d often been caught off guard and even charmed out of giving a deserved punishment, but it seemed to go with the parenting territory. With Whit by her side, along with an army of trusted bodyguards, the last six years had gone better than she’d expected. Agnes loved Gretchen, and she’d do whatever it took to protect her.
The car pulled up to the school and slipped behind the others waiting to unload their precious cargo.
Agnes smoothed back the baby hairs from Gretchen’s soft forehead. “You ready?”
“Yes!” With her big smile on display, Gretchen tucked away her crayons and stowed them in her backpack. “Are you coming home early tonight?”
“At the usual time. Maybe a little earlier but I’m not sure. Why?”
“Whit wants pizza.”
A cough was all that came from Whit on the other side of the Town Car.
“Really?”
“Yes.” Gretchen nodded vigorously.
Agnes turned to look at Whit. “Is that so?”
“Apparently.” Whit replied dryly.
Although the play was as transparent as the Town Car’s tinted windows were from the inside, Agnes didn’t see anything wrong with giving Gretchen what she wanted. It was a Friday, and every report she’d gotten back from the school said Gretchen was doing very well. She was a lot precocious, sometimes too chatty, but always respectful and ready to help the teacher.
How she’d managed to escape the label of “teacher’s pet” among the other children showed how likable she was. Already a better person than Agnes. She just sometimes worried that Gretchen might turn into a bit of a people pleaser. Humans were often a disappointment, and she didn’t want her child to be hurt by expecting too much.
“In that case,” Agnes said with a straight face. “I’ll do my best so Whit can get what she wants.”
The car rocked slightly as Gretchen jumped up and down on her knees on the seat. “Whit will love that.”
“Oh good.”
After they dropped her off, the car slid away from the curb, following the slow traffic of minivans and improperly named SUVs out of the school’s semicircular driveway.
“I’m glad she’s using her powers of manipulation for good.” Agnes looked back at the school steps where a teacher stood making sure the children ended up where they were supposed to. “God knows her father never did.”
“She’s fine,” Whit said. “You, though, are distracted.”
Agnes almost sighed. “No more than usual.”
“No. Actually more than usual. What’s on your mind? Oh wait. Don’t tell me. It’s that girl who came into the office a few days ago. The one who somehow found out what H Holdings really is and wants to work under you.” Whit didn’t crack so much as a smile.
One day, Agnes would ask Whit how she knew so much about her business. Then again, that was part of the reason she was there. To see things Agnes missed. To know what Agnes also knew but have a different perspective on it. At times, she wondered if Clare and Whit weren’t ganging up on her, determined to control both her home and office life.
“It’s nothing.”
“I doubt that very much,” Whit said. “If some young thing is trying to get close to you and you’re already suspicious, wouldn’t the sensible thing be to push the trouble away before it gets the chance to take root?”
Sensible, yes.
“If she’s part of the trouble that’s been coming at us lately, it would make more sense to let her think she’s getting in and use her to find out what’s going on.”
“Is that what you’re doing? Seems to me you’re going with your gut instead of making a plan.” Whit’s penetrating stare narrowed. “You never go with your gut.”
In her lap, Agnes’s hand twitched. She didn’t fool herself into thinking Whit didn’t notice. “I’ve got it under control.”
Whit breathed out a laugh. “No, you don’t. That’s why you have me. And Clare.”
“Just watch from a distance. Don’t get involved too closely.”
“You know I can’t do that. I’m not here to cosign bad decisions.”
This time, Agnes did sigh. “Very well.”
Whit, Agnes sometimes forgot, wasn’t just family. She wasn’t just the sum of her vast weapons collection, practical advice, and J. Crew-approved wardrobe. She was also the girl Agnes had known nearly all her life. The one who’d burst into the room, no hesitation, and shot the man holding the blade that had just slit Augustus Noble’s throat. That murderer had been Whit’s own father. Her own abuser.
Whit was hard because she had to be. She protected what and who she loved by absolutely any means necessary. Even by being a pain in the ass.
Today was supposed to be Lola’s so-called second interview. Agnes had made that up on the fly. The assets who approached H Holdings about working there were usually professionals with months or years in the game, no second interview required. These men and women usually wanted a reputable, exclusive agency that kept them safe and ensured they made an excellent wage. H Holdings was many things—feared, respected, but also fair. And it rarely took in newbies who wanted to give whoring the old college try.
“Don’t act like I’m taking away your new toy.” Whit looked down to rearrange the lines of her sweater over her gun holster. “You have plenty of leeway to see what this woman is up to without putting the business, yourself, or Gretchen—” She emphasized Gretchen’s name with a significant look. “—in danger.”
“I’m not new to this, you know. My priorities have always been clear.”
“If anyone knows that, it’s me, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this distracted by a woman before.”
“I may be a little distracted, yes, but I’m not totally stupid.”
Whit made a sound full to the brim with doubt. “I’ve seen what this woman looks like. And I notice your body’s reaction when you talk about her. The drool practically drips down your chin.”
“My body’s reaction? Really, Whit?”
Agnes’s phone vibrated again, snagging her attention and saving her from seeing Whit’s expression. This time, she slid it from her pocket and read the message there.
Clare: The penthouse is ready for Delores Osbourne’s interview this afternoon.
A flush of jealousy rolled through Agnes’s belly, up her chest and into her face. She tried to ignore Whit’s interested gaze.
Agnes: Who’ll conduct the interview?
They’d agreed to take this as far as a real audition of the type other houses had. Find a client or a client stand-in. Let the asset work, then do an assessment at the end of the encounter. When she’d agreed to it, Agnes had half-expected Lola to back out.
Lola had spouted that foolishness about wanting to make money, but there was a layer of lies there. Easy to spot, hard to penetrate to see what was beneath.
Lola hadn’t changed her mind, though. Instead, she’d confirmed the interview time and place with Clare, sending along the message that she was ready to be an excellent new asset.
Since getting the message, Agnes had grown agitated, felt the irrational jealousy that someone would get to taste what she’d wanted so badly on her tongue during that night at the club.
Clare’s reply to her question buzzed her phone. The one scheduled to “interview” Lola was Nestor. Another of their assets. A beautiful man who, in a suit, gave off “hot billionaire” vibes, even though he’d been born in the slums of Jamaica.
When asked, Lola had said she didn’t care if her interview was with a man or woman. Agnes’s jealousy boiled. Did that mean even if she was the one waiting for Lola in the darkened penthouse with her core aching and her empty arms waiting to be filled, it would have been the same for Lola as any other woman, any man?
Agnes’s jaw tightened. This was business. For her to keep a clear head, it needed to stay that way.
Although the “clear head” thing might be one of those “closing the barn door after the horse had bolted” type situations.
Agnes thanked Clare and put the phone away. She tapped the glass to get the driver’s attention. “To the office, please, Taj.”
“Of course, ma’am.”
Whit said nothing.
The Town Car dropped them off at the front of the building, and they took the private elevator up. Images of the two of them reflected back at Agnes from the steel doors. Whit in her head-to-toe gray with her unsmiling purple mouth. The three-quarter-length coat she’d added after leaving the car made her look taller, both more elegantly feminine and more dangerous.
Except for a quick check to make sure she looked presentable in her slim-fitting burgundy dress, black heels, and coat, Agnes deliberately looked away from her own reflection. What she looked like didn’t matter. She snuck a peek at her watch. Almost eight o’clock. She had a lot of time before four this afternoon.
“Do you think she’ll go through with it?” Whit asked as the elevator rushed skyward.
No need to clarify who she was talking about.
“Yes. She says she hasn’t done this before, but whatever the reason she’s really here, using her body in this way is something she’s apparently willing to do.”
And that was the rub, right? That night at the club, attraction to Lola had turned Agnes into a drooling, slow-witted version of herself. It rubbed her raw that the attraction hadn’t been mutual. Lola had been planning how to get into H Holdings, not Agnes’s panties.
That stung.
People used people. People got used. In Agnes’s world, that was the norm. People employed whatever means at their disposal to get what they wanted.
In her own case, she had needed her father’s connections and his part in a vast network already in place. She’d needed his spiderweb to get her own goals accomplished. She’d used him, used his network, then eventually had taken it for herself. So, she shouldn’t have been hurt that Lola, a stranger, was willing to use her to get what she needed. Whatever that was.
“You’ll find out this afternoon just how far she’s willing to go.” Dark amusement pulled up the corner of Whit’s mouth. “And hopefully, what her end game is.”
“Yes, I will.”
The elevator doors slid open. “By the way,” Whit said as they both stepped out. “Everything is set for the Vegas meeting. Hotel, security, airport arrangements. I’ll send the info to your phone later today.”
The big annual meeting with the other houses in North America had almost slipped Agnes’s mind. She was more distracted than she thought. “Thanks. What would I do without you?”
“Lucky for you, you don’t have to find out.” Whit gave her arm a quick squeeze, then went left at the elevators while Agnes went right. Time to start the workday.
Agnes worked with a countdown ticking away at the back of her mind. The closer it got to four o’clock, the farther her mind drifted from her work. Whit left to pick up Gretchen from school. Agnes’s two meetings came and went. Finally, at twelve minutes to four, she pushed away from her desk, unable to fake it for one second longer. She tapped the intercom button. “Is Nestor already there?”
“Yes,” Clare said. “He arrived about thirty minutes ago.”
Thirty minutes.
The leather of her chair sighed as she dipped back. Of course. Even though he was playing the role of the client this time, Nestor was a professional. He would be the one to rate how Lola fulfilled her role as an escort, from the moment she appeared at the designated place to the moment she left.
Punctuality. Performance. Pleasure. These were the key things he had to pay attention to and report back to Clare. Or Agnes.
“Thank you, Clare.”
