Creede didn’t have an answer to that, so he changed the subject. “Look, I’d like to apologize to you for what I said earlier.”
“It’s all right.” Actually, it wasn’t. It still stung. I tell myself I don’t care what people think, that the tough-girl image is part and parcel of the whole bodyguard thing. But it’s more a suit, a persona I put on in the morning. It’s not the real me and I do care. It’s stupid, I know. But I do. And I’m not a bitch. I know plenty of them and they don’t want me in the club.
He shook his head firmly, which did more to make amends than the apology. “No. It’s not all right. I know better than to believe gossip. But if it helps any, I’m about to get my share of karmic repentance in the press.” He gave me a chagrined look. He was right, too. The tabloids were going to have him for lunch once they learned of the split. The spin-off partner can easily become a public pariah in any business. Magic just makes it worse. It wouldn’t be hard for the press to find present and former M&C employees who would demonize John, off and on the record. After a second of me not assuring him it’d all be okay, he sighed. “Let me make it up to you by buying you a meal. We can talk business, so your boyfriend won’t get jealous.”
“Bruno doesn’t get jealous.”
“Bullshit.” Creede’s grin lit up his face and he went from good-looking to handsome in an instant. “You forget, I saw you together at the wake.” He laughed. “And I’ve met ‘Uncle Sal.’ ” He made little quotes in the air when he said the name. “Trust me, I’ll behave. There are some people that even magic won’t save you from.”
I believed that. You did not cross Uncle Sal. But I kept my tone casual. “I’ll have to take a rain check, I’m afraid. I have an appointment downtown in a few minutes. I hadn’t planned on staying here this long as it is. But yeah, I’ll want to sit down and have a heart-to-heart talk with you before I let you actually sign.”
Another small, amused curl of his lips. “You still don’t trust me.”
I just shrugged and returned the smile. Hell, I barely trust myself.
I arrived at the offices of Pratt, Arons, Ziegler, Santos, and Cortez a few minutes after the Will reading was supposed to start. Mostly it was due to traffic, but I also didn’t want to have a scene in front of the office staff when Vicki’s parents saw me. Sadly, the receptionist recognized me and smiled. I say “sadly” because I’ve spent a lot of time and a truckload of money here lately because of my upcoming hearing.
“Morning, Tabitha. Where are they holding Vicki’s Will reading?”
“Good morning, Miss Graves.” Tabitha’s voice was painfully polite. She didn’t like me. It was all over her body language. But I was a paying client, so she’d play nice. “We weren’t expecting you.” I knew I was on the list of attendees, but I’d also been in the room when Dr. Scott had called to tell Barney Arons I wouldn’t be attending.
I didn’t reply, just raised one brow. She nodded and picked up the phone, dialing three numbers before moving her gaze to the desk in front of her. I’ve noticed most receptionists do that when they take a call, as though it creates an invisible wall between them and the person standing at the desk. “Yes, sir. Celia Graves is here?” She made it a question and I knew why. Would Arons tell me to take a hike? He had every right.
I could hear the reply with my shiny new vampire ears. “Tell her to come up, please. We haven’t started yet.”
“Of course. Thank you.” She put down the receiver. “They’re in conference room B-nine.” She turned and pointed to the stairs. “Next floor up, take a right at the top of the stairs, go all the way to the end, turn left, and it’s the third door on the left.”
“Up, right, left, left. Got it. Thanks.”
“Have a nice day.” She tried to make it sound sincere and failed. Whatever. I turned right, as instructed, and started walking. I knew from previous visits that this entire floor was devoted to conference rooms, which I thought was a really nifty idea and very smart planning. Cozy little enclaves held just two or three people—I’d often met Roberto in those (usually when his office was too trashed to dig out a chair)—while other, massive rooms could seat forty or fifty people around a single, unhexable table. All the tables were various shades of marble or slate, which made me wonder aloud to Roberto once about the logistics of hauling the solid stone slabs up. He’d replied with a snort, “Cranes, scaffolds, reinforcing floors, removing windows . . . you don’t want to know the headaches.” And he was probably right.
The reading was apparently in one of the big rooms, because it took a while to get to “third door on the left.” At least I had time to admire the stunning abstract paintings on the walls and feel the soft cushion of high-dollar carpeting underfoot. It was utterly silent in the bright hallway. Every room was soundproofed for confidentiality and I could feel the press of avoidance spells that forced me not to stop at certain rooms—probably where other meetings were taking place.
In the end, it wasn’t hard to spot the proper room: It was the one with armed guards standing on either side of the door. Both men were big and wore crisply starched brown uniforms that looked almost like those of a state trooper. They were armed and each wore a holy item on a silver chain around his neck. I wondered if they were here to keep the parties inside safe or to keep the rest of the office safe from the parties inside.
They didn’t seem surprised at my appearance, which meant someone had warned them to expect the fangs. I was glad. I was already tired of the commotion my new teeth could bring about.
One guard made me show him my driver’s license, which made good sense. Then, after checking my name off a list on his PDA, he opened the door, then carefully closed it behind me. I paused just inside to scan the room and its occupants.
Barney Arons sat in the center of the room, on the far side of the table. The others faced him, along with a large video screen that covered one window. They’d turned their heads as I entered.
“Hey, Celia. Great to see you!” David greeted me warmly, and he and Inez both smiled as I slid into a chair. David and Inez ran the mansion Vicki had lived in when she wasn’t at Birchwoods. David kept the grounds in enviable condition and Inez did the same with the interior . . . including the guesthouse I called home. I wasn’t surprised to see them here. Vicki had always said she’d take care of them if anything happened.
I sat near the door in case Cassandra launched herself at me. She looked like she might. Her beautiful face had moved from neutral and sad when I’d first stepped inside to livid hatred. “What are you doing here?”
Vicki’s father, the legendary actor Jason Cooper, nudged his wife with more force than was probably necessary. He hissed, “Let it go, Cass,” and gave her a look. She returned the look with force and he raised his brows. “I mean it. Drop it now. This isn’t the time or the place.”
Instead of relaxing, she pushed back her chair. I tensed. Sure, I could handle her, but I really didn’t want to hurt her. She was my best friend’s mother. Vicki would be hurt beyond belief if I harmed Cassandra. The worst part was that I hadn’t done anything wrong. I’d loved Vicki like a sister. It made me sad how much Cassandra hated me. But she didn’t turn my way. Instead, she moved to the far end of the room and sat down in the chair opposite me. Then she proceeded to ignore me completely. She pulled a nail file from her purse and began shaping her already perfect nails.