CHAPTER 261: CHAPTER 261 MIRA: FIGHT

‘Ashton! What are you doing here?’

I couldn’t tell if I was more shocked or furious at the worst possible interruption.

But I knew exactly what Ashton felt.

‘Murderous’ didn’t even begin to cover the look on his face.

I instinctively took a step back.

‘Mr L-Laurent.’ Fabrizio had staggered to his feet and extended a hand.

Even drunk, he remembered his manners.

Ashton ignored him.

His gaze locked on me, making the hairs on my neck prickle. ‘Let’s go.’

‘Go? Where? Wait, I can’t!’

Fabrizio had been about to give me the name of the man who helped him cook the books. With that, I could close the case and finally get my money back.

‘Why didn’t you call me? And how did you even know I was here?’

Ashton reached for my wrist.

‘Don’t!’ I yanked my hand free. ‘I said I’m not leaving.’

I glanced nervously towards the restaurant entrance, half expecting Silva to storm in.

‘Is dinner with him really that important?’ Ashton’s voice was a low, dangerous growl. ‘I’ve got news. Important news.’

‘Whatever it is, it can wait. I’m in the middle of something.’ I gritted my teeth, leaned close and whispered in his ear, ‘This dinner matters. A lot. I’ll explain later. Right now, you need to disappear.’

He stared at me. ‘You’re asking me to leave? For him?’

I let out a loud, frustrated breath. ‘This isn’t the time for another jealous outburst, Ashton. Just leave, all right?’

I turned back to Fabrizio with an apologetic smile, which froze when I saw him slumped in his chair, chin on his chest, softly snoring.

He was out cold.

‘Shit.’ I signalled for the bill and asked the waiter to fetch the restaurant owner, a friend of Fabrizio’s.

When the man arrived, I said, ‘Could you see that he gets home safely?’

He glanced between me, Fabrizio and Ashton, gave me a knowing smile, and said, ‘Sure.’

I headed for the door. ‘Let’s go.’

Ashton followed, silent but visibly furious.

‘My car’s over there,’ he said as we stepped onto the kerb.

I ignored him and kept walking, my own anger bubbling up, blood boiling from tonight’s wasted effort.

I’d been so close.

‘Where are you going?’ Ashton caught up to me easily with his long strides. He tried to grab my hand again, but I shook him off.

‘Don’t touch me.’

I turned the corner and walked straight to a beige utilities van parked in front of a closed shop.

Before I could knock, the door swung open. Silva jumped out, scowling.

‘I didn’t get the name,’ I said.

Silva nodded. ‘I heard. Not your fault.’ He shot a look at Ashton. ‘This your fiancé?’

‘Yeah.’ Though, after tonight, I wasn’t so sure for how much longer. ‘What now?’

Silva glanced back at the van, where a computer and surveillance setup sat unused, two uniformed officers ready to call it a night. ‘We regroup. I think I know who Fabrizio meant. I’ll dig into it. You should go home.’

I unclipped the tiny camcorder button from my blouse and handed it to him. ‘Here.’ I didn’t want anyone listening in on what was coming next.

I headed back to Ashton’s car and climbed into the passenger seat.

I was tempted to flag a taxi instead, but that would only delay the inevitable. I wanted the fight over and done with.

Ashton slid behind the wheel and started the engine.

Neither of us said a word during the drive back to the hotel.

When we reached the suite, he spoke first. ‘We need to talk.’

‘I need a shower first.’

I’d matched Fabrizio drink for drink and reeked of wine. My head was swimming, but not enough to cloud my judgement. If anything, the alcohol stripped away my usual hesitation. I knew if I didn’t say what needed saying tonight, I’d lose my nerve by morning and, as Yvaine would say, go back to being a coward in love.

I didn’t wait for Ashton’s reply. I headed straight into the shower, turned the temperature as high as it would go, and let the scorching water batter me. The heat matched my mood.

I scrubbed hard until my skin was raw, then got dressed and brushed my teeth.

When I came out, Ashton was on the balcony, an unlit cigarette dangling from his fingers.

‘Let’s talk,’ I said.

He turned.

In his usual dark suit, with that unusually grim expression, he looked like the embodiment of night itself.

That had been part of the attraction when we first met. He’d looked dangerous, and dangerously good-looking.

I looked away and sank into an armchair.

My temples throbbed, and the alcohol, amplified by the hot shower, was burning through me fast.

‘Who was the man in the van?’ Ashton demanded.

‘Don’t talk to me like I’m one of your employees,’ I snapped. ‘I get to ask first.’

He visibly tried to rein in his temper, but the veins on his clenched hand stood out even in the dim light. ‘Fine. Ask.’

‘How did you know I was at that restaurant?’

‘I made some calls.’

‘Too vague. Not good enough.’

‘I hired someone who specialises in that sort of thing. He tracked your phone.’

‘You mean a private detective.’

‘...Yes.’

‘So you hired a PI to follow me.’

‘Not follow. You weren’t answering your phone. I had to find you.’