Lance
My nose twitches the moment I step off the elevator toward my office at the Criminal Prosecutions Bureau. There’s something different in the air today. It follows me all the way down the hall, twirling around and tightening my guts like a damn anaconda. It’s not until I reach my office and I see the two people sitting in the waiting area do I realize what’s different.
Beatrix Argento.
The heiress herself. I must admit, the hundreds of photographs and video clips I’ve seen of her don’t do her justice. She’s dressed for business in a jet-black suit and white blouse, her deep red lips being the only color standing out on her entire person. Hair in a tight bun. Perfect French-tipped nails.
She’s chatting with the man beside her. I inwardly groan the second I make eye contact with him. It’s not the first time Jerry Smitts has passed through my office but I’d be lying if I didn’t say I hoped each one would be the last. He’s a damn unethical tyrant with about as much integrity as a piece of string cheese. Even Beatrix looks fed-up with his bullshit. She stares at him with intense eyes, her lips moving fast with biting, harsh syllables only they can hear.
He notices me and raises a hand to silence her, an act that sends a flurry of rage to her eyes but she sees me and goes soft.
“Jerry...” I greet, straightening up. “Good to see you, as always.”
He stands up and extends his hand. My smile grows. As much as I dislike Jerry, I do get some pleasure out of staring down at his barely five-foot-five frame.
“You, too, Lance,” he says. He half-turns in Beatrix’s direction. “And this is—”
“I can introduce myself, Jerry.”
Beatrix rises to her feet. With the aid of her heels, she towers at least six inches over Jerry and that just tickles me in the best of ways. She sticks out her hand and looks me in the eyes.
I was wrong. Her bright, brown eyes stand out even more than her painted red lips.
“You’re Beatrix,” I say, shaking her hand. She squeezes much harder than I expect and one of my knuckles pop in her grip. I tighten mine. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”
“And you’re Lance Tyler,” she says, keeping her hold on me. “Forgive me if I don’t say the same about you.”
I chuckle. “I get that a lot.”
“Not surprised.”
She drops my hand as Jerry clears his throat.
“Let’s get this over with, Lance,” he says, his voice drawling with his token impatience.
I gesture down the hall. “You know where the conference room is,” I say. “Make yourselves at home. I’ll be right in.”
Jerry walks toward it and Beatrix turns to follow him.
“Ms. Argento,” I say.
She pauses, whipping her head in my direction.
“Can I get you anything?” I ask. “Water? Coffee? A rolled up newspaper to strike him with?”
“Water will be fine, Mr. Tyler,” she says with the hint a smile.
I nod and she continues on. I stand still for a moment, trying not to make my stare too obvious. With so few words, Beatrix Argento has stunned me in my shoes. Then again, that’s her job. Every little piece of her is planned out in advance. Calculated and convincing, as Max put it. The funny quips and tender smiles. Right down to the hairs on her head.
I have to be careful in there. I can’t afford to slip up.
A throat clears and I twitch toward my assistant, Clara. She leans forward with her jaw perched on one hand. Her lips tilt in amusement.
“Good morning, Mr. Tyler,” she says.
“G’morning,” I say. “Can you take some waters to the conference room?”
“I already did.”
I wink. “I trained you well.”
“Yes, where would I be if you hadn’t have taught me how to set out a few bottles of water?” she says, her voice dripping with dry sarcasm.
“Hey...” I step in the direction of my office behind her desk. “You better watch it. You could be working for that guy right now,” I say, gesturing toward Jerry.
She squints with interest. “I wonder what his benefits package is like...”
“I think it’s safe to assume that no woman has ever benefited from his package, Clara,” I joke.
She snorts and reaches for her notepad. “You have three messages.”
“Anything from Haley?”
She nods. “She wants to know if you’re still meeting her for lunch.”
“I will be there with bells on. The other two?”
“One from Ava at the mayor’s office and the other...” she checks the pad to refresh her memory, “from someone named Jake.”
“Jake?” I ask, blinking. “Really?”
“He said you’d know him.”
I breathe out. “I do. He say why he was calling?”
She shrugs. “Just asked that you call him back. He left a number.”
I push it into the back of my head. I have a femme fatale to deal with first. “I’ll get back to them after. Hold calls until then.”
“Will do,” she says, tapping her pen on the desk.
I pass by her into my office, feeling her inquisitive eyes on me until I close the door to block her out. I turn all of my focus to the stack of files on the edge of my desk. Everything I know about the Argento family is right here. I’ve studied it from top-to-bottom but I still feel more than a little nervous about going up against Beatrix. Especially now that I’ve seen her in person.
I knew what to expect. Doesn’t mean I was prepared.
I gather my notes and walk out of my office with my head up and shoulders back.
Push her. And then keep pushing.
I enter the conference room to find Beatrix and Jerry already sitting in their seats, both with an untouched bottle of water within reach. The stenographer, Betty, is in her place at the far end of the table, ready to put down every word of what’s about to happen. I give her a nod of acknowledgment and she gives me a kind, welcoming wink behind her thick glasses.
“Ms. Argento,” I say, taking my seat, “you are aware that everything you say in here today will be recorded?”
She nods. “Of course.”
“You may invoke your fifth amendment rights at any time—”
“That won’t be necessary, Mr. Tyler,” she says. “Let’s get started.”
I glance at Betty to make sure she’s ready and she nods.
“All right, then.” I clear my throat as I lay my phone between us on the table, tapping record on the audio app. “Ms. Argento, would you mind stating your full name for the record, please?”
She looks at me, her eyes straight and calm. “Beatrix May Argento,” she says.
“And what is your relation to Angelo Argento?”
“He’s my father.”
“How would you describe your personal relationship with your father, Ms. Argento?”
“We’re close,” she says, nodding softly.
“How would you describe your professional relationship with your father?”
“Professional.”
I smile at her answer. “Is there anything else you’d like to add?”
“There’s not much to add, Mr. Tyler. He hired me to do a job and I do it objectively.”
“What exactly is your job?”
“Public relations, mostly,” she says, pausing. “My father performs many valuable services for our community but he can’t be everywhere at once. When he needs to be, that’s when I come in.”
I stare at her, fighting my smirk. Valuable services for our community. What exactly is valuable about criminal conspiracy and murder, again?
I swallow the question as she tilts her head slightly. A lock of her bangs falls loose from her bun and hangs down next to her eye. For a moment, my train of thought derails. She’s utterly gorgeous. But she already knows that…
I clear my throat. “Would you say you are familiar with his business associates?” I ask.
“I would, yes.”
�
��Alonso Argento. Do you know him?”
She smiles. “He’s my uncle. Yes, I do.”
“When is the last time you saw your uncle?”
“A week before his arrest,” she says, her tone still calm and rehearsed.
“And how did you feel about your uncle’s arrest?”
“Shocked,” she says. “I never in my life thought he’d be capable of something like that, if true.”
“You think he’s innocent?”
“I think there’s more to it than what we’ve read in the papers,” she says, dancing around the question.
“And your father?” I ask. “Do you think he’s innocent, too?”
“Of course, I do.”
“Objection, Lance.”
I blink over to Jerry. I almost forgot he was even here.
“She’s already submitted these statements to you in writing,” he says.
“I’m just warming up,” I say. “Can’t have too many truthful statements on record, don’t you agree, Ms. Argento?”
“Yes,” she says with a nod, much to Jerry’s annoyance.
He waves his hand, signaling for us to continue. “Go on, then,” he adds for the record.
I look across the table and she locks eyes with me again. “When is the last time you saw your father, Ms. Argento?”
Beatrix pauses with a subtle shift in her stare. “The night of his arrest.”
“You haven’t seen him since?”
She looks at Jerry for a second. “No,” she says, her voice dropping.
“Would you mind describing that night for me?” I ask.
Beatrix hesitates and looks down at the table. It’s hard to say if this is the act of a grieving daughter or a cold machine. Perhaps both — but I hear Max’s advice in my head.
Keep pushing.
“It was a Sunday night,” she begins, “so we were all at my grandmother’s house for our weekly family dinner.”
“All?”
“Me and my father; my grandmother, Ma; my two brothers, Gavin and Danny; their wives, Bidelia and Nikki; and our bodyguard.”
“Marcus Donner?” I recall.
A second passes. “Yes,” she says.
“So, you’re all having dinner and then...?”
“There was a knock on the front door,” she continues. “Marcus stood up to answer it. I looked over at my father and I found him smiling at me. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his lighter, something my grandmother hates at the dinner table, but he wasn’t lighting up a cigar. He handed it to me instead and stood up as Marcus returned with a handful of police officers behind him.”
“He went willingly?”
She nods. “Only the guilty run, Mr. Tyler.”
“Is that why your uncle ran from the police in Los Angeles?” I ask.
“Objection, Lance,” Jerry scolds again. “You’re twisting her words.”
“No, it’s fine,” Beatrix says, leaning forward. “He’s just doing his job. Isn’t that right, Mr. Tyler?”
“That’s right,” I say.
She licks her painted lips. “I can’t speak for my Uncle Alonso,” she says. “That’s not my job.”
“You represent your family,” I point out. “Is he not family?”
“I represent my father,” she corrects. “I represent the countless American families he’s sacrificed for. I represent the kindness and generosity he’s given to the people of this city.”
I fix my eyes on her to stop them from rolling. “Ms. Argento—”
“Three thousand families will have gifts under their trees this Christmas because of the charitable work my father does, Mr. Tyler. Each day he’s in jail, more people needlessly suffer.”
“Oprah’s not here right now,” I say. “You won’t earn sympathy points with me, Ms. Argento. Your father is in jail for conspiracy to commit murder and I have reason to suspect that’s not the only criminal activity your family is involved in.”
“Rest assured, you have my sympathy,” she says, still calm as ever. “But unless you have some sort of proof for these accusations, I don’t see how I could be of any assistance to you.”
I open my mouth to speak but Jerry stands up.
“I agree,” he says over me. “I think we’re done here, Lance.”
“Now, hang on...” I say. “We’ve barely started—”
Beatrix rises from her chair. “I’m willing to return once you have something concrete to discuss other than unfounded accusations,” she says. “Until then, it was nice to meet you, Mr. Tyler.”
I exhale, feeling a bit of numbness on the tip of my tongue. There’s no way I can salvage this one. I stand up.
“It was nice to meet you, too, Ms. Argento.”
They turn and walk out of the conference room, leaving me alone with Betty the stenographer.
“So?” I ask as I stop the recording. “How’d I do?”
She gathers her things. “You’re a pillar of inspiration, sir,” she quips.
I frown as she walks out the door.
Well, shit.
That did not go as planned. Not even close.
I toss my notes together and sulk out of the room. Voices linger down the hall from the elevator where Jerry and Beatrix stand waiting for one to arrive.
“I told you, Beatrix, the answer is no.”
“I’m not asking permission, Jerry. I want to see him.”
“No.”
“Just let me have five minutes with him, please.”
I keep one ear on the conversation as I linger near Clara’s desk.
The elevator opens and Jerry steps on. He glances over Beatrix’s shoulder in my direction and lowers his voice so I can’t make it out. Beatrix does the same, biting back and forth as she stands outside.
“You going down?” he finally asks her.
“I’ll take the next one,” she says.
He releases the door, glad to go alone.
“Asshole,” she adds after they close.
I raise a brow.
Beatrix exhales hard and crosses her arms as she digs her sharp heels into the floor. I turn and stare, somehow not even caring whether or not she notices. She seems to be in her own little world anyway, silently grumbling to herself as she paces on the same piece of carpet over and over again. It’s a far different side of her than the stone-cold princess I just spoke with. Now, she’s rattled, full of spark and emotion.
She’s — dare I say — human.
The elevator opens again and Beatrix happily walks on now that Jerry is gone.
I bolt for it, though I’m not sure why. I’ll figure it out when I get there.
I step on and stand beside her. She raises her head, instantly straightening up the second she notices it’s me.
“Ms. Argento,” I greet as I slap the button for the lobby.
“Mr. Tyler.” Her voice is stiff and cold again but she’s still got that soft flourish of pink warmth on her face.
The elevator starts downward.
“I have a question,” I say, breaking the silence.
She stares forward. “If you have a question, you can speak with my attorney.”
“You mean the guy you just called an asshole?” I ask.
“... Yes,” she answers.
I smile. “This question is more on the personal level.”
“I don’t answer personal questions.”
“Then, how do you make new friends?”
“I don’t.”
I pout. “Sounds lonely.”
She exhales in annoyance but her eyes find mine in our reflections on the elevator doors. “Ask your question, Mr. Tyler,” she says.
I turn to look at her. “I haven’t seen your name on your father’s visitor log.”
“That’s not a question.”
“Why haven’t you gone to see him?” I ask. “Your brothers have. His bodyguard has. Jerry has. But not you…”
She shrugs one shoulder. “That’s none of your business.”
“You g
uys have a fight?” I ask, digging deeper.
“That’s really none of your business.”
“If there wasn’t a fight, then what’s wrong?”
“It’s a father-daughter thing,” she says. “You wouldn’t understand.”
I smirk. “Try me.”
She breathes out through her nose.
“There are only two things fathers and daughters fight about,” I say. “Money and boys.”
Her face twists.
I take a half step closer. “Now, your family no doubt has more than a few coffers stuffed to the brim with dollar bills, so I’m leaning toward the latter.”
She says nothing but her eyes harden.
“What, he not approve of your prom date?” I joke.
“The opposite, actually,” she says.
I furrow my brow. “I don’t follow.”
“And I don’t lead, so back off.”
My heart pounds with delight. “You don’t like to talk much, do you?” I ask.
“Brevity is the soul of wit,” she quotes.
I point a finger. “That’s Shakespeare.”
“Very good, Mr. Tyler. You’ve read a book.”
I laugh. “And you actually cracked a joke.”
“It kills time.”
“You got somewhere to be right now?” I ask.
“Why?”
“Because I’d like for us to go back upstairs and continue this conversation.”
“No,” she says quickly.
“Why not?”
“Because I said no.”
“Well, if you don’t mind me throwing out a Billy Shakespeare quote of my own,” I say. “Methinks the lady doth protest too much.”
She looks at me with softer, sideways eyes. “It would not be wise without my lawyer present.”
“Without the asshole?” I ask.
“... Yes,” she answers.
“You wanna talk about it?” I ask, making her eyes roll. “You know, trust in your representation is a huge factor in a relationship with a client. A woman like you deserves someone who will look out for her best interests.”
The elevator stops and the doors open on the lobby.
“Or, maybe...” She turns to look me in the eye. “We should defer to what old Billy would say about that.”
“And what’s that?” I ask with a whisper.
She leans within an inch of my face. “Let’s kill all the lawyers.”
I squint as she steps off. “That’s not very nice, Ms. Argento,” I say after her.
Pretty Dirty Trick: A Rich Bitches Novel Page 4
