Free Devil's Bargain by Rachel Caine

the other, near a massive elevator bank. Three people were behind the desk. The woman gave them a warm smile. The two security men gave them blank, appraising stares.
    “Here to see James Borden at Gabriel, Pike & Laskins,” Lucia said. “We have an appointment.”
    They had to produce ID again, but it was fairly painless, and one of the security guys detailed himself to escort them up. Floor forty-five required a key card. He used his and stood in silence, hands at his sides, watching as the floor count moved in red dots on the readout. Around the thirtieth floor Jazz had to pop her ears. That was the only excitement.
    The elevator doors opened onto what surely must have been a lawyerly version of Shangri-la. They stepped out onto a massive marble deck facing a huge bank of floor-to-ceiling windows with a spectacular view of the Manhattan skyline.
    “May I help you?”
    The voice was, somewhat to Jazz’s surprise, a honeyed Southern drawl. Once her eyes got past the shock of the view outside, she focused on the reception desk located over to the side, next to a black wall of stone with a near-silent curtain of water wavering over it. Another perfectly made-up woman, this one deserving the cover of Elle at the very least. Brunette, brown eyes, a smile that looked collagen enhanced even if it wasn’t.
    If Lucia was intimidated by the competition for the I’m-the-Most-Beautiful-Girl-in-the-Room award, she didn’t show it; she gave Reception Goddess a warm smile and produced ID for the third time in an hour. Jazz followed suit. “James Borden’s expecting us,” Jazz added, before Lucia could blurt it out. It felt good to take charge, even in this petty little area.
    “Ah,” the woman said, and touched buttons on some hidden console behind the marble counter. “He’s on his way. Please have a seat.”
    Jazz eyed the chairs, which looked modern, uncomfortable to sit in and impossible to get out of, and decided to disobey. She paced restlessly, examining bromeliads and exotic flowers. This was the kind of place that had fresh arrangements delivered every day, just for the effect. Lucia settled on a hard-looking couch, looking poised and deadly.
    “Jazz?”
    She turned at the familiar sound of James Borden’s voice, and paused, blinking. If it hadn’t been for the voice, and the warmth he put into the sound of her name, she wouldn’t have even known him. He was wearing a flawlessly tailored double-breasted blue suit, something with just enough of a sheen to the fabric to make it look rich instead of cheap. A turquoise-blue tie with subtle dark gold flecks. A crisp, blindly white shirt. A single gold stud in his ear, which these days she supposed qualified as corporately daring.
    His dark hair was combed down, no longer gelled into spikes, and looked…conservative. A little too long, maybe, but good.
    She focused on his dark brown eyes and got a flash of deep-seated warmth, then remembered her manners and stepped forward to take his hand in a firm shake. “Counselor,” she said. “Nice suit.”
    He grimaced. “Yeah, the judges seem to like it. You all right?” He was looking at her too closely, holding her hand a little too long. She didn’t know whether it was flattering or insulting.
    “Fine,” she said, and pulled away. “This is—”
    “Lucia Garza,” he finished, and did the handshake thing again. Lucia was tall enough to look him in the eye, and her smile was at least twice as winsome as it needed to be. But maybe she was just overpowered by the suit, which Jazz had to admit was pretty damn fine. “I’m glad to meet you.”
    “We have questions,” Lucia said, still with that winsome smile, and no softness at all in her eyes.
    “Yes,” Borden said, and glanced from her to Jazz. “I figured you might. Please, follow me.”
    He led them down a shallow flight of stairs through what looked like a meditation garden, with stone benches and mannered vegetation and a Zen sand pool in the