Holmes had escorted Roark to file a writ or some kind legal document to force Gail to open her books and her Swiss accounts to a criminal forensic accountant. Sage hadn’t even known she had one Swiss account, not to mention several.
The hotel phone rang.
“Sage Matthews.”
“Sage, darling, it’s Gail. I ended up extending my stay. I feel bad about the way things ended between us, and I think maybe we both said some things that we perhaps regret…”
Gail continued to prattle on, but Sage wasn’t really listening. She wanted to tell her that she had proof of her embezzlement, knew Gail had tried to kill her, and Roark was filing the necessary paperwork to see her pay for what she’d done. Then Gail said something interesting.
“I really think we ought to have lunch and part as friends.”
Friends? But if she wanted to meet, maybe she could show Roark she wasn’t as helpless as he sometimes seemed to think she was. If she was going to make a life with him, he needed to know she was a competent individual and could help him in his work… between writing her new series.
So, instead of telling her to fuck off, she said, “I’d like that, Gail. I agree we meant too much to each other over the years. Can you do it today, here at the Savoy?”
Gail laughed. How had she never heard that bitter note of winter in Gail’s voice?
“I heard you had moved into the Savoy as a writer-in-residence. And how clever of your new PR firm to come up with the idea of getting some uber-sexy model to portray your lover and muse, your inspiration for Clive Thomas as it were. Finally going to retire that series?”
Sage was still having trouble accepting that Roark’s character in the books had now been replaced by a character named Clive Thomas. It was curious. Only she and the characters that had stepped out of novels knew that any substitution had been made.
“Yes, I thought I’d give him his own happily-ever-after with a feisty heroine, the kind you always hated. Say one o’clock this afternoon? I’ll make a reservation.”
“Lovely. See you then.”
Shaking her head, she dialed Roark’s cell. They both continued to marvel at the fact everything she’d ever written about Roark—money, fashion, virility, etc.—had come with him from the novels. The only thing that hadn’t been in her books was his Daddy Dom-ness.
“What’s up, Pet?” he answered. “We’re with the Crown Prosecutors.”
“When will you be home?”
“Put your motor on idle, Pet. Daddy will take care of you when he gets there. Be a good girl and follow the rules. We don’t want a repeat of yesterday’s lesson, do we?”
Before she had a chance to say anything, he disconnected. She started to get angry and call him back, then remembered her phone had a record feature. She and Gail would be in the Savoy, for God’s sake. She could let Felix and Gabe know she was having lunch with her nemesis. Besides which, what could possibly happen at the Savoy?
Sage took a shower and dressed with care. She put on a pair of black leather trousers with ankle boots. She paired it with a black leather corset and an eggplant-colored, raw silk swing coat. She wanted to meet her adversary on equal footing. At precisely one, she left her room. Gail could bloody well wait for her for a change. Hanging back until she saw Gail enter the restaurant, Sage straightened her spine, turned on the recorder, and headed to the table. She had specifically asked for a very public table by the window.
“Sage, darling, it’s not like you to be late.”
“I find these days I’m so busy, I can only be on time for the really important things… and people.”
“Well done,” Gail said with a sly smile. “I see your new firm got you into some decent clothes.”
“Actually, it was Roark. He knows several of the London designers, and they were happy to send his woman some things. We’re attending a big art thing next week, and the gowns I had to choose from were simply stunning.”
Gail looked taken aback for a moment but quickly recovered.
“I felt bad about some things I said and frankly, about not listening to you when you wanted to start your little paranormal series. I know that isn’t usually something I do, but I feel I should have made an exception for your vanity project. I know you can’t have a publisher yet, so I thought maybe we should meet and put all this unpleasantness behind us. As you said, we’ve meant a lot to each other over the years.”
“My vanity project? Hardly. I do find it curious, for once, your information from the gossips is behind the times. I do, in fact, have a new publisher. We only recently inked the deal, but it is a very lucrative one. I stand to make so much more money than I ever did with you. They’re very excited, the writing is going really well, and I should have the manuscript to them by the end of the month.”
“Really?” Gail couldn’t quite mask her surprise fast enough. “Well… good for you. For what it must be costing you to stay here and pay that model, you’ll need the money. Then why, I wonder, did you agree to meet? Wanting to gloat? That’s not like you.”
“You don’t know the first thing about what makes me tick. And no, I have no need to gloat, and Roark is not a cover model. He’s my lover and my Dom. I’ve moved into
