The Negotiator (Professionals, #7) - Jessica Gadziala Page 0,4

jostle that only managed to make my stomach lurch, making me glad I hadn't chugged the orange juice after all.

"Fenway," I growled, shooting daggers at his stupidly good-looking face. His smile didn't falter in the least.

"You always have slept late, but I finally went below deck to take a nap, you were asleep so long."

"Gee, maybe that has something to do with the drugs in my system."

Fenway, as was Fenway's nature, completely ignored that. As a general rule, he avoided anything heavy or serious. It would almost be easy to accept him at face-value if you thought that was all there was, if he was just some rich kid who became a richer adult who had a head full of feathers and a liver full of top-shelf gin.

But Fenway was smart. Almost scary smart at times. And a hell of a lot more perceptive than he would ever let on. Likely out of fear that if you knew he had other sides to him, you would expect anything other than a good time from him.

"I see you are sharing your abundant charm with my good friend here," he segued instead, giving the man a smile that was not returned.

I wasn't sure this man knew how to smile. Surely, it would look out of place on his stern face.

"We have yet to be acquainted," the handsome stranger informed Fenway, tone pointed.

"Well, that won't do. This is my good friend Miller." Everyone was Fenway's 'good friend'. "She has another name, but she refuses to tell it to me. So we have to call her Miller."

I never gave anyone my first name. I was sure my coworkers knew it, but not a single one dared to call me it to my face.

Let's just say there are some names that did not sound badass at all. And my job tended to require badassery. So I kept it simple. Last name only.

"You're not done, Fenway," I reminded him when he fell silent.

"Right. I figured you might already be familiar with my friend here," Fenway said, sounding surprised I clearly wasn't. "This is Christopher," he told me. "Christopher Adamos."

Christopher Adamos?

This was Christopher Adamos?

I didn't know him by sight.

But I damn sure knew him by reputation.

Shit.

This was not going to be good.

TWO

Miller

"So you have heard of me," Christopher concluded, making me realize this was one of the very rare times in life when my poker face failed me.

God, I just needed some coffee. And a couple ibuprofen. My freaking memories back from the last twenty-four hours.

Then I would be back on my game.

The last kind of person you wanted to be off your game around was a man like Christopher Adamos.

"It is part of my job to know just about every major player in the criminal world, Mr. Adamos."

"I'm a businessman."

"Businessmen don't deal in blackmailing."

"Clearly," he said, his lips doing that smile that was not a smile thing once again, "you have not been around many businessmen. There's not a noble one to be found."

"They also don't make their fortunes off of the collapse of economies."

"Of course they do," he corrected. "Why else do your businessmen become richer during your recessions?"

Damnit he was right.

And I was just not in the right place to have a discussion about morals. Not that I even wanted to have that discussion. I was not that pain in the ass, judgmental person everyone hated to be around. I'd done plenty of sketchy things in my life. I was friends with those who had done far worse. I frequently spent my time with some of the worst men and women the world had to offer.

I had no reason to judge Christopher Adamos, despite some of the rumors I'd heard about his ruthlessness.

I was just in a mood.

And wearing pants when I didn't want to be.

"Anyone interested in stopping for some frappes?" Fenway asked, completely oblivious to the charged air between the others present. Or, more likely than not, just ignoring it.

"I want to go home, Fenway."

"You just have a headache," he brushed me off, reaching into his pocket, tossing a bottle of pills at me.

"I don't want Percocet, Fenway. I want you to call a helicopter, get me to the closest airport, and get me home."

"I'm afraid I can't do that, beautiful."

For the record, he was not apologetic in the least.

"What are you talking about? This is your yacht. You can do whatever you want."

"You'd think so, wouldn't you?" he asked, shrugging as he sent a wink to one of the girls on