Chapter 114
Chapter 114:
“Why the fourth floor?” Harvey asked, confused. “That’s just storage and Mr. Vincent’s nap room p>
“Exactly,” Jocelyn said.
Harvey typed quickly on his laptop. “Got it p>
They watched the screen together. Sloane entered the room at 2:00 PM on a Tuesday. Vincent followed two minutes later, glancing down the hallway before slipping inside. They emerged at 3:00 PM. Vincent was buttoning his shirt. Sloane’s hair was disheveled.
Jocelyn smiled. It wasn’t a warm smile. It was the smile of a hunter watching a trap snap shut.
“Gotcha p>
“Should we fire her?” Harvey asked, barely containing his enthusiasm. “I can escort her out right now. It would be my genuine pleasure p>
“Not yet,” Jocelyn said, leaning back in her chair. “If I fire her now, Vincent will spin it. He’ll say I’m jealous, or petty. He’ll protect her and make me look like the problem p>
𝘛𝗁𝗲 𝗯еs𝘁 𝗋еa𝘥𝘪ոg е𝗑р𝘦𝗿іe𝗇ce 𝗼𝗇 ѕ.𝘤𝗈𝗺
She looked at the screen — at the grainy still of Sloane laughing.
“I need undeniable cause,” she said. “Public cause. Something even Vincent can’t cover up p>
She turned to Harvey. “Keep an eye on her client interactions. She’s sloppy. Arrogant people always make mistakes when they believe they’re untouchable p>
It was 7:00 PM when Jocelyn walked out of the hotel. Her day had been a blur of spreadsheets and suppressed anger.
The Aston Martin was waiting at the curb. Gaston leaned against it with his ankles crossed, looking as though he had just stepped out of a magazine spread. He was wearing sunglasses even though the sun was already setting.
The valet attendants were staring. Female guests walking into the hotel were staring.
Jocelyn sighed. Why does he have to be so conspicuous?
Gaston opened the passenger door as she approached. “Long day p>
“Productive,” she corrected, sliding into the leather seat.
He got in on the driver’s side. The car smelled of leather and his cologne — sandalwood and something that was uniquely him. The scent brought back the memory of his skin against hers before she could stop it.
“About this morning…” Gaston began, turning the key. The engine roared to life.
“Gaston, stop.” Jocelyn turned in her seat to face him. “We have a contract. I need you to respect it p>
“I respect you,” he said gently, glancing over at her. “That’s exactly why I want to talk about it p>
“If we blur the lines, I lose my focus,” she said, her voice cracking slightly despite herself. “I can’t afford that right now. I have enemies everywhere. I need to know where I stand. I need to know what is real p>
Gaston’s hands tightened on the steering wheel, his knuckles whitening. He looked at the desperation in her eyes — the fear of a woman who felt the ground shifting under her feet.
“Okay,” he said, his voice cooling to something carefully neutral. “Back to business. Friends p>
He offered his hand across the center console.
Jocelyn took it. His palm was warm and rough. “Friends p>
Later that night, in a dimly lit cigar bar in Tribeca, Gaston sat across from Justin Collins.