After watching an entire soccer match (as I was informed it was called after saying the word game), I had concluded two things: I liked soccer, and I would never understand the off-sides rule, no matter how many people—Beattie included—tried to explain it to me. I was okay with that.
When we got into bed that night, Adaire gave me a quick kiss, said good night, and turned over. It wasn’t what had quickly become our usual routine in bed, which included some kind of intimacy each night—words or bodies—and it was the clearest sign I’d had yet that something was wrong. Xavier was screwing up a lot of things just now.
I planned to wake up before Adaire and see if I could figure out what was up, but when I opened my eyes before dawn, he was already out of bed and out of the room. It was going to be a long day. But I was past the point of bending myself to fit other people’s moods, so I got up, took a long, very hot shower, put on my favorite new dress that I’d bought at the market, and decided to leave my hair down and big. Something about my natural hair just made me feel sassy and strong.
That feeling ebbed a bit, though, when Beattie and I walked onto the deck of the Rooftop and found only Aaran and Boone there. “Morning,” I said, trying to keep my voice light even though my intuition was telling me something was quite wrong with Adaire. “Where’s your brother?” I said as I took a seat between Aaran and Beattie.
“He took a run this morning. Needed to clear his head,” Aaran said without meeting my eyes.
My stomach turned over, but there was nothing I could do about Adaire at the moment. We had business to discuss, and so I did what I had seen so many men do in my life—I compartmentalized and put my concerns about Adaire at the back of my mind so I could focus on what was ahead.
“I spoke with Adaire this morning. He’s up to speed,” Boone said as he took a sip of orange juice. “Now, today, we have to make some moves.”
I smiled. Nothing like espionage to keep one’s mind busy. “Are we looking for buyers?”
The set of books we’d bought was still sitting in the safe in our room, and while I’d thought it might be a good idea to bring the set to Boone, Beattie had pointed out that it was probably best if we weren’t seen with it more than absolutely necessary.
“We are indeed,” Boone said. “Today, this is your office, and you will have everything you need both to find buyers and to meet with them.” As if on cue, Frank walked over with two laptops and set them beside us. “But before we get to work, let’s eat.” He raised his hand to two young servers waiting at the corner of the deck and they came over.
The menu was far more extensive than I had imagined would be possible for a restaurant that didn’t typically serve breakfast. I ordered a Belgian waffle with whipped cream and strawberries as well as a side of bacon, which turned out to be what I would call Canadian bacon but was delicious nonetheless. Beattie and I split my waffle, and I ate some of her omelet “for the protein,” I said, as if bacon had no protein whatsoever.
A glass of orange juice and two cups of coffee later, I was completely full and actually a little eager to get to work. I wasn’t completely comfortable with my eagerness about dealing in the black market, but I also couldn’t deny how exciting it was.
While Boone, Aaran, Frank, and Ivan did whatever they did over at a table across the deck, Beattie and I dove into the dark web and began putting up our ads for buyers. Over the past few days we’d seen enough of the Internet underneath the Internet to know how things worked—no names, vague locations, precise dollar figures. So the ads were easy enough to write. It was vetting the buyers that was going to be tougher.
We had just finished listing the set in a few forums when Adaire came charging onto the deck, breathless and panicked. “Come quickly,” he said to Boone and Aaran, who didn’t hesitate and charged back down the stairs behind Adaire with Ivan and Frank close behind.
Beattie and I exchanged a glance, and then by silent, mutual agreement decided to stay put. Whatever had made Adaire so scared wasn’t something I thought I could handle that day, and apparently, Beattie agreed. Besides, we were already getting pings about our book set.
Details and processes were not something I was particularly good at—I tended to see the end result and the big picture and miss the means of getting there. But Beattie was a details person. She actually had a spreadsheet that listed all the spreadsheets she had. In many ways, but especially this one, she was my hero.
So as we waited for Boone and Aaran to come back, she made a spreadsheet of every offer we received, listing everything from their screen name to their offer to any demographic information we could obtain about them. And it was a good thing she did because offers started coming in quickly. I couldn’t quite understand why since the book set had been for sale literally the day before. “Why didn’t they buy it then?” I asked Beattie when we had a brief lull in offers.
Beattie thought a moment and then said, “That auction was pretty sketchy. This whole buying situation is pretty sketchy, too, but it’s probably safer than buying from known organized-crime lords.”
She had a point, and I couldn’t disagree now that she put it that way. I didn’t have much time to consider the idea further though because the offers picked up again, and I spent the next half hour reading off details so Beattie could put them into the spreadsheet. By the time the ad had been up for an hour, we had twenty-seven offers, several of them very high.
“So, what do we do with this information?” Beattie said. “Does Boone want us to set up meetings? That’s what he implied, right?”
I sighed. “I guess so, but I’m not inviting anybody up here while we’re alone.” I looked around. The servers were still lingering quietly in the corner, sharing their phones and laughing.
“Right. Let’s just wait until they come back,” Beattie said as she leaned back in her chair. “Now, what’s going on with Adaire?”
The tiny compartment into which I’d stuffed that question at the back of my brain flew open, and I sighed. “I have no idea.” I told her about how distant he had been since last night and how he’d seemed annoyed or something. “I’m just not sure what’s up.”
She sighed. “Come on now, Poe. You know what’s up. He’s jealous.” She reached over and took my hand. “You just don’t want to see that.”
I studied my friend and frowned. I wanted to disagree with her, but I couldn’t. Despite the fact that our society makes jealousy sound like such a terrible thing, I had always appreciated when a man felt a little jealous for me. It showed he cared, and as long as he didn’t become possessive, controlling, or ugly about it, I hadn’t minded.
So it was strange that I wasn’t leaning more into Adaire and picking up on that jealousy. I would have, in most situations, been very eager to reassure him and make him feel secure. But now that Beattie had made me see it, I wasn’t inclined to do that at all.
I sighed. “You’re right. What does that mean?” I asked.
“I don’t know. What do you think it means?” Beattie raised one eyebrow and looked at me.
I let my head fall backward over the chair and stared at the sky above. “That I’m not that into him.”
“Excellent use of a pop culture reference, my friend,” Beattie said with a small laugh.
But when I lifted my head and looked at her, her face was tender. “I’m just not that into him.” This time the sadness of that statement hit me. “I like him. I care about him. He’s fun and smart. But there isn’t any mystery there, no spark.”
Beattie nodded and took my hand. “You deserve spark, Poe,” she said. Then she grinned wickedly. “Does Boone have spark?”
There was that quiver in my belly again, but I almost lied to my best friend. I almost told her not. But she knew better, and I knew I was better off for admitting it. “Maybe.” I smiled, but I felt tears coming to my eyes again. “Why do I always want what I can’t have?”
“Who says you can’t have him?” she asked as she lifted her chin and gestured toward the elevator behind me.
There, Boone, Aaran, Adaire, Frank, and Ivan were exiting like some kind of fashionable and bookish Ocean’s Five. I rolled my eyes at my friend, but then stared at Boone. He was dressed simply today—jeans, a polo, and his usual mustache. But today, I found the flecks of silver in his hair particularly appealing.
I had to take a beat though because Adaire was there, and we needed to have a talk. Plus, we were in the middle of a major sting operation, or whatever we wanted to call it… and then I noticed the look on the men’s faces. They were a somber crew.
“What happened?” Beattie asked.
Boone looked over at Adaire, but when Adaire didn’t move, Boone sat next to me. “Poe, I hate to say this, but Xavier has been killed.”
I stared at him for a long moment and then let my eyes pass from him to Adaire, who wouldn’t meet my gaze, to Aaran. It was Aaran’s nod that brought it home for me, and I gasped. “What?!”
“Adaire found him in an alley just around the corner. He must have been killed last night,” Boone said as he studied my face. “Are you okay?”
I shook my head. I most certainly was not. It didn’t matter that I didn’t like Xavier very much. I had loved him once, and his death left a void. But I couldn’t get lost in my grief at the moment, so I focused on the much easier questions. “What were you doing in an alley?” I said as I turned my face to Adaire.
This time, he met my eyes. “I was just wandering and thinking to clear my head after my run,” he glanced over at Aaran, who nodded encouragement. “I happened to turn down the alley, and I saw feet sticking out from behind a dumpster. I felt like I was in a movie or something.”
Beattie sighed. “How was he killed?” she asked and then quickly looked over at me.
“I’m going to go to the room for a bit. I just need a minute alone.” I looked at Boone. “I’ll be back in 15.” I really didn’t need to hear the details about my ex-boyfriend’s body and between this and realizing I needed to break up with Adaire, I really did just need a few minutes by myself.
I rode the elevator down to our room, taking deep breaths the whole way. Then, once I was inside, I slid down the back of the door and let myself sob. I remembered the time that Xavier and I had spent $200 on a dinner in Philadelphia just for the heck of it, and the way he had sat with me, laughing, when our dean had been called out by a student at a town hall for administrators because the student had seen him at a local motel that was known for housing sex workers. I remembered the conference we’d been to when I’d ask him if he still wanted to be with me and how he’d paused.
I let myself remember and be sad, really sad because a person had died, a person I cared about. The emotions rocked through me, rending my chest and releasing, along with them, a little bit of every grief I’d ever known.
And then I stood up, took a deep breath, promised myself I’d cry more later, and headed back to the roof. We had work to do, and now I had even more reason to do it. My friend—or my former friend at least—was dead, and someone had killed him, it seemed, just after he’d met with us. That made his murder very, very personal. It also meant I could translate my sadness to anger and productivity, which in this moment was a very good thing.
When I walked back out onto the roof, everyone turned to look at me, but I wasn’t in a place where compassion felt very good. So I said, “All right, what are we going to do?”
Beattie took my cue and said, “I just set up four appointments for this afternoon for us.” She looked over at Frank. “Frank will be our security for those appointments, and he will also do a little fishing, as he can, with our guests’ security, should they have any.”
I looked over at Frank. “Good. You think these people will bring their bodyguards?”
He nodded. “Wouldn’t you?” he asked with a small smile. He had a point.
“I’m off to liaise with the police a bit, in a more or less official capacity,” Aaran said with a sigh. “We need to know what they know.
“About Xavier’s murder?” Beattie asked.
“That and other things,” Aaran said. “Adaire, come with me. They need your official statement anyway, and it’ll give me an in that doesn’t mean I have to say more than necessary.”
I looked at Adaire, and he gave me a small wave before following his brother back off the roof. Things were so tense there, and I knew now what needed to be done. But personal relationships could wait. Now we had a murder to solve.
Boone pulled a chair up close beside mine and leaned toward me. “Are you okay, Poe?” His voice was very soft, and for the first time, I noticed a sparkle in his blue eyes.
I shook my head. “No, of course not, but I’m able to do what needs to be done.” I couldn’t let myself think about Xavier as a person right now. He was a mystery, and a mystery I could handle.
“Okay,” Boone said as he laid his hand over mine. “I’m going to be working downstairs in the lobby, discreetly, so just let me know if you need anything, okay?” He walked toward the door, stopping to say something quietly to Frank before he and Ivan left.
As soon as they were out the door, Beattie shot a look at Frank and then whispered, “If you are interested, Poe, that man is sold on you.”
I gave her a glare and pretended to be making notes about the appointments she’d just emailed me. But I couldn’t completely ignore that my heart was racing just a little. I forced any thoughts of Boone and Adaire and even Xavier out of my mind, though. We were about to meet with four criminals to try to sell them books we had only semi-legally obtained, and I needed my full wits about me.
Our first guest was a black woman in a long, shimmering trench coat and black stilettos. She strode across the rooftop deck like she was an assassin with a target, and given her attire, I gathered that was just the impression she wanted to give. Boone had managed to have the hotel close the rooftop restaurant for the rest of the day, so at least we didn’t have to worry that an unsuspecting diner would be killed on our watch.
“Thank you for coming,” Beattie said as she gestured to a chair across the table from where we now sat.
“Thank you,” the woman said in a lovely South African accent. “I appreciate the opportunity to consider your product in such a pleasant environment.”
The deck of The Silo was certainly gorgeous, but I couldn’t help imagining that she meant more than the planters and the view. “I am, P,” I said, “and this is my associate B.” I tilted my head toward Beattie.
“How delightful that two Americans use the initials for peanut butter,” she said with a small smile that might have been humor or malice. It was hard to tell.
“We assumed you would like to examine the set before making an offer,” Beattie said as she slid the books gently across the table. Ivan had brought them up a few minutes before because we knew that people weren’t going to buy something of this value sight unseen.
The woman took the first volume and gave it a quick perusal and then followed suit with the others as well. “Everything appears to be in order.”
“Very good,” I said, pulling the books back toward our side of the table and soothing my nerves by taking a quick peek at Frank, who was attentively watching from a few feet away. Close enough to move in if needed but far away enough to not hear the details.
“We have three other potential buyers coming this afternoon,” Beattie said. “So, we will be providing everyone a chance to raise an offer, considering all of them, then making our decision tomorrow.”
This was the plan we had discussed earlier, and while it felt a little too much like a real estate transaction for me, a quick text to Boone had confirmed it wouldn’t be out of line with what our buyers would expect.
“You will maintain complete confidentiality, I assume,” the woman said. When we nodded, she gave us her offer. It was generous, but only slightly higher than what we’d paid the night before. I expected she’d have stiff competition this afternoon.
“Thank you so much,” I said as Beattie and I stood.
The woman followed suit. “You know how to reach me,” she said before shaking each of our hands and nodding at Frank on her way out.
I let out a long breath as soon as the door closed behind her and then looked at Beattie. “We might just get good at this.”
“We might,” she said with a wink. “But Frank, you didn’t get to squeeze the muscle.”
Frank grimaced. “That is a terrible expression.”
I giggled. “It is pretty terrible, and a little lewd.”
Beattie rolled her eyes. “You didn’t get to question her bodyguard,” she said.
“Nope.” He grinned. “He stayed in the lobby, with Ivan.”
“Yep, we’re getting pretty good at this,” I said.
Our next three meetings were almost identical, give or take the presence of a bodyguard. Client Number Two wore a straw hat over his very pale skin, and I felt a bit like I was talking to Hannibal Lecter. Client Number Three was a large, red-haired woman with a jubilant laugh and the best offer of the day. Client Number Four was a very tall, very thin Middle Eastern man in a tunic who had spent almost half an hour flipping through every page of the books.
By the time we were done with him, I was exhausted from the heat and the sun and, well, the emotions of the day. I needed some good food, some quiet company, and maybe TV to shut down my brain.
Unfortunately, Adaire had other ideas. When he caught me after my shower and just before I was about to collapse on the couch to binge The Bachelor South Africa, I just didn’t have the energy to protest. He led me down the hall to the elevator and pushed the button for the ground floor. “Let’s go for a walk,” he said.
I breathed a sigh of relief because at least we’d be moving, and I wouldn’t have to look at him while we talked.
The air outside was still warm, but the light had turned that golden that makes the shadows almost purple. It was a beautiful night, and in some ways, that felt perfect for the conversation we needed to have.
“Poe,” he began after we’d strolled a couple of blocks, “I’m sorry to say this, but I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”
For a split second, I thought I should be shocked, but then I realized that Adaire was an attentive, thoughtful man. He had surely noticed the change in my demeanor, brief as it was. “I agree,” I said.
“You do?!” he said, a look of alarm on his face. “I thought you’d be surprised.”
“You did?” Now, I was surprised. “I’d been thinking the same thing for a couple of days.” The bevy of questions that was my usual way to make sense of the world spun to the surface of my mind, but I decided to stay with the simplest. “Why do you think so?”
He walked on in silence for a bit and then said, “I’m just not that into you.” He looked over at me and smiled, taking any sting that might have been in his words right out. “You are amazing. Smart, funny, strong, beautiful. . . but well, I just don’t think we’re the best match.”
I sighed. “Same. Same,” I said. “You’re so brilliant and kind, and you are incredibly handsome, but yeah.”
He laughed then. “Well, then, maybe we can actually be friends, without tension.” He looked at me hopefully.
I nodded. “I think so, although we may need to make other sleeping arrangements.”
“Already done,” he said. “I have a cot being delivered tonight. I’ll sleep in the living room.”
“That’s not necessary—” I started to say, but he interrupted me.
“Poe, you lost someone you cared about today. Take the bed,” He put his arm around my shoulders. “As your friend, I’m telling you to take the bed.”
I didn’t argue but just settled against his side as we walked a few more blocks together.
When we got back up to the suite, Aaran and Beattie’s door was closed, and Beattie had left me a note. “Don’t hesitate to get me if you need me,” it said.
Surprisingly enough, I didn’t need her. Adaire and I were friends now, which felt good, right somehow, and while I was definitely going to have to deal with my grief over Xavier’s death sometime, now was not that time.
“Mind if I encroach on your sleeping space for a while?” I asked Adaire as he made his cot by the window.
“Not at all,” he said. “Feel like watching something?”
There was a television in our, now my, room, but company was always better for cheesy reality shows. “You up for some matchmaking?” I said.
“Only if red roses are involved,” he said with a laugh.
For the next three hours, the two of us sat on the couch, eating all the appetizers room service would deliver and watching women throw themselves at the feet of one man. It was a little demoralizing, but also such good TV.
When I finally stretched and got up to go to bed, I said, “This is good, Adaire. Yeah, this is good.”
He stood up, hugged me, and said, “It is. Absolutely.”
He was smiling when I closed the door to my room, but I couldn’t help noticing the grin didn’t quite meet his eyes.