Lie, Baby, Lie ✔️

chapter thirteen- wade

Chapter Thirteen

Mia's hand is shaking. The tremble is so slight that I barely feel it, but it's there. I notice it up until the moment she lets go of me. Other than that, she's gorgeous and deceptively calm. The ritzy restaurant is an hour from the resort, so we'll have time between checking out and meeting Romero. Thomas wants us back over the border as soon as possible, but I don't think we'll be back in LA soon enough. Mia would probably agree with that.

According to the GPS, the place is almost exactly sixty minutes from us, give or take a few. An hour in a boring classroom used to drive me crazy in high school, often dragging on. Hell, an hour in Purgatory drags too. This trip in the truck feels as if it takes no time at all. Weirdly, it's all the same amount of time.

Mia is playing with the hem of her tight dress, twisting a loose thread along the seam. If we were in different circumstances, I would be fixated on the way it rides up her thighs, but I don't feel like I can take her in right now. Not with where we are. We're both stalling the inevitable.

"I'd let you stay in the car, but I don't think it's safe," I tell her, bringing the briefcase full of samples into my lap.

"It's fine," she says quickly. "Let's just get this over with."

She purses her painted lips and, without hesitation, leads the way to the front doors. I slip an arm around the curve of her waist and speak to the hostess in Spanish, knowing Mia doesn't have any idea what to say.

"I have a reservation for Valdez and Romero," I say.

"Right this way," the woman replies, reaching for a couple of menus.

She weaves her way through the main dining room effortlessly, but she doesn't stop at a table there. Instead, she leads us up a short staircase to the second floor. The private dining area is marked by a chandelier and a separate bar with a long mahogany counter. We're alone, save for the man flanked by two security guards in the booth near the back of the room.

Judging by the expensive suit, the back-up men watching over him, and the self-righteous way he holds his cigar, he must be Romero. He's an older man with salt and pepper colored hair, a clean-shaven jaw, and a set of expensive rings adorning one of his hands. He beckons us over immediately.

"You must be Wade," he says in English. He flicks some ash from the end of his cigar into the tray on the table. "Take a seat, boy. We've got work to do."

Mia and I sit across from him, and she busies herself with the menu while I get through introductions. I set the case down on the floor and offer a handshake. His grip is firm, commanding, and confident. Much like Thomas, he probably believes a handshake sets the tone of a negotiation.

"I'm Romero," he declares proudly. "Surely you knew that already."

"I did."

"Thomas said he had other business to attend to, which explains why he sent you on his behalf."

"That's right, sir," I say.

Romero pours himself a glass of red wine slowly as he dives right in. "Let's not beat around the bush. What's on the table today?"

"Purgatory has been looking at expanding into Mexico for quite some time," I begin, having memorized the terms of Thomas's deal long before I had to deliver it. "You're the boss of trade down here and competing with you would simply be bad business. He's looking to let you have some stock in the US in exchange for grounds to sell here."

"What percentage are we talking here?" he questions pointedly.

"Fifteen," I say. It's the starting amount, but Thomas's maximum is twenty-five. I know better than to offer that from the beginning, and getting him to settle for less is the best-case scenario.