Chapter 3 3

India dragged her coat off the back of her chair, putting it on over the dress she had just changed into as her computer shut down for the day. It was raining as always, the sky dark grey and bleak. Securing her laptop in her bag, she shoved the strap over her shoulder and made her way out. She had sent her administrative assistant home an hour ago, so no one greeted her on her way out. The floor was hers and hers alone, third to the top where her brother, Reid's, office was and then her father's.

Mendez Whiskey was one of the premiere Irish Whiskey makers in the country and with her help bringing them into the digital age, they had started to crack the international market. India's social media prowess did not stop with the family business - the socially acceptable one. She also had a decent following of her own on Instagram.

Creating a dream life for her followers had been easy. Every post to the main feed and her story were hand-crafted to fool the public. It also gave India extra income that could not be controlled by anyone but her. Most of the Mendez family were too technologically stupid to realize how much money could come from portraying a fake life on the internet.

The elevator ride down to the basement was silent, most people already home for the evening. India knew that there had to be some executives still in their offices, wasting away their lives trying to prove something to a man who just didn't care. Snorting to herself, she remembered that she was no better. It was nearly eight p.m. and she was just now leaving after working on a project for the business that her father would approve instantly without so much as a "good job".

Her Bentley waited for her near the elevator, lot number five reserved for her as it had been the past seven years. The streets were busy, the city alive this Friday night. Pedestrians crowded the walkways and crosswalks, oftentimes getting in the streets due to overflow. Horns honked and traffic slowed.

Practically crawling forward, India called out to her phone, "Call Wren."

Ringing blared through her Bluetooth until her cousin picked up, "Hey, I'm at the restaurant. Adrian ditched again."

India huffed out a laugh, "She with her secret boyfriend tonight?"

"Who else?"

"Do you think we'll ever meet this guy?" She asked.

Wren snorted, "Not at this rate. I think she's trying to keep him aways so we don't corrupt him."

"Us?" India asked facetiously, "We would never."

"Let's take bets." Her cousin said, "I think he's older. Like way older."

"That's a good call. She either thinks he's the one and is just keeping him away from everything or she's somewhat embarrassed by him. What if it's someone we know? Like Brandon or Socks?"

"Socks!" Wren laughed emphatically, "Oh, that would be rich. She's the one that gave him that stupid nickname too!"

India joined in on Wren's laughter. It was true. When they were younger, all the way back in middle school, the three of them had gone to a party at his house. It was the first teen party any of them had attended, and they thought it was so cool. Near midnight, Adrian had snuck into his room on a dare, something about finding "naked magazines" or something as salacious as that.

Instead of Playboy or even Maxim, Adrian came out using one of his shirts as a barrier between her fingers and an almost crystallized sock. The boy was mortified, but the damage was done. Only the three of them, Socks and a few others had actually seen the sight of his cum covered sock, but the nickname somehow stuck. By the time they were going into high school, only the teachers called him by his real name. Nowadays, most thought his name had something to do with his career in back-alley boxing.

"Hey, I'm almost at the restaurant." Traffic slowly edged forward, cars searching for a spot to park on the side of the road, trying to avoid paying the exorbitant fees for the parking garages. "I'll see you in a few."

Just five minutes later, India was handing her keys off to the valet, taking the slip and heading inside. The canopy kept the rain from hitting her body and messing up her hair as she slid in through the front door. The restaurant was busy just as it was every Friday night, the low lights and dark furnishing creating an ambience of mystery and intrigue.

Noble was the best restaurant in town, with a Michelin star to prove it. It was owned by the Tanaka's, a prominent family in the circle, and India knew that there was a secret door in the basement of this very building leading to the underground tunnels that the subway once ran through. The old rail system was abandoned a decade ago, a new high-speed one taking its place thanks to Spechtron Tech. Their engineers had designed a whole new system, making the old tunnels obsolete.

Until the Tanaka family claimed them, that is.

Wren sat at a table in the middle, her platinum blonde hair practically glowing under the candlelight chandelier above her. Her eyes were studying a single woman by the bar, dragging down her body in a familiar way. She didn't notice India until the hostess pulled out the empty chair for her, the legs squeaking against the wood floor.

"A friend?" India teased, crossing her legs and leaning back in her chair.

A sly smile played across Wren's heart-shaped lips, "A very good friend."

"She's cute."

"She shaves her pussy into a heart."

India nearly choked on her water, "How does someone even do that?"

"No clue, but it's adorable." Wren shrugged.

"How was work?" She decidedly changed the topic.

Just like India, Wren worked for Mendez Whiskey. Her uncle - India's father's brother - was CFO, and she had taken to her father's talents, graduating with a Master's in Accounting. Wren had a way with numbers and would almost certainly be the future CFO of the family business.

"Boring." She drawled, "Got all my work done within a few hours and spent the last half of the day on my phone. Did you hear that Harley Twist was arrested in Rome?"

"Was he?" India unfurled her napkin, placing the silverware neatly on the table and spreading the cloth over her lap. "What did he do this time?"

"Something involving a sex worker. The usual."

Humming, India kept her next comment to herself, seeing the server step up to the table. "Hello, Miss Mendez. May I get you something to drink."

"Red wine, please. Whatever you recommend."

"Of course and would you like a refill?" He turned to Wren.

She held up her empty glass for him to take, "Yes, I'll take two cherries this time."

He nodded and left them alone. India's eyes wandered around them, seeing if she recognized anyone dining tonight. She clocked a few familiar faces, but no one important. A young woman a few tables away kept glancing over at them then whispering excitedly to her dinner mate.

India stilled her gaze at them, studying them. She didn't think she recognized them and they didn't have any features that would suggest any of the families in the circle. Once she was comfortable assuming they were just excitable fans who kept up with her Instagram, she turned back towards Wren.

Drinks were served and dinner was ordered. Wren spewed more gossip about people they went to school with or socialites that had moved to the city. Kingstown had flourished in recent years, slowly burying its dark history and building its way into a destination city. It was still just as dangerous, but somehow hid it well from the tourist population. When they went home to whatever small town or influencer-heavy big city, they had nothing but positives to say.

Or if they did have something negative or potentially harmful to say, their silence was bought.

India and Wren had fun guessing who Adrian's mystery man was, naming off countless well-known men, getting more ridiculous by the moment. The food was excellent as always, specials made specifically for them by the executive chef. They were here often enough and the Tanaka's made sure to give the absolute best to the Mendez's whenever they came.

As their empty plates were taken away, Wren ran off to the restroom - or more likely to talk to her friend at the bar. India sipped on her wine, dark fruits the primary flavor, black cherry and plum dancing along her tongue. Her attention was stolen when someone slipped into Wren's empty seat.

India's spine straightened. The man across from her was one that everyone in Kingstown knew. He was like the other side of her two-headed coin. Where India broadcasted a lot of her life, he kept his under lock and key. Where his name was whispered in fear, hers was boasted amongst those who wanted a sliver of her clout.

Although they had both grown up in the city, gone to the same college, and their fathers had an... understanding where business was involved, they'd never spoken. For over two decades, the two had steered clear of one another. India had always considered it a move for protection. Not necessarily protection from him, but from those who would love to see two of the most powerful and influential children of the city in the same room. It was easy bait.

Yet here he was. Jason Glover. Son to Cedric Glover, the second most dangerous person in Kingstown. Chocolatey brown hair with deceptively innocent curls distracting from the harsh lines of his face. A jawline that could cut glass and high cheekbones that India envied. It was his eyes that shocked her the most, though. Pictures did him no justice, in all honesty. Yes, they may have been paparazzi shots - him with his latest plaything going in and out of various clubs and restaurants - but never would India had guessed the intensity in his eyes.

The green of his irises was hard to pinpoint. Under certain light they might have looked pale, but the way he held his brows, slightly furrowed at all times, made them seem darker, more serious. His gaze commanded attention, others surrounding them staring at the bizarre spectacle.

India Mendez and Jason Glover didn't speak. They didn't hang out. They didn't even have friends in common. At least, that's what the public had always thought. She was sure that within minutes it would be all over the city that the two most notorious children of the most powerful men had been seen together.

In silence, they studied one another. India wasn't going to be the first to speak. He had come to her, so she would wait for him to make the first move. He didn't, though. Instead, he sat back in Wren's seat, chair turned slightly off to the side, so his legs could cross comfortably. The way he lounged back, elbow resting on the table, hand finding its home halfway towards her, was one of haughty arrogance. He knew he held her attention and she hated that he did.