I maneuvered through them to the reception desk and waited until I got the attention of the Fate on the left.
After a moment, she looked up at me, obviously frazzled, her fingers flying across the keys even as she made eye contact.
"Yes?" she asked.
"Merit, Sentinel, Cadogan, here to see Morgan if he's available?"
She blew out a breath, finally glanced down at her screen, and continued her marathon typing. A man bumped beside me at the desk and looked down at her.
"I had an appointment fifteen minutes ago."
"Nadia is working as quickly as possible, sir.
She'll be with you shortly." She pointed a long-fingered nail at the benches behind the desk.
"Have a seat."
The man clearly didn't like her answer, but he bit his tongue and squeezed back through.
I leaned forward a bit. "What's going on in here today? I thought Tate wasn't allowing humans in the Houses?"
She rolled her eyes. "He's offered an exception to that rule. We're in the process of selecting our vendors for the next calendar year.
The mayor suggested Nadia talk with representatives of the human businesses in town to get their bids."
Nadia was the Navarre Second, Morgan's vice president. She was also supermodel gorgeous, which was a shocking thing to learn the first time you walked into your ex-boyfriend's abode.
The Fate cast an unhappy glance out across the crowd. "I seriously doubt they can meet our needs."
I'd assumed we had a cleaning crew and a grounds staff, and I knew one of the House chefs. But it hadn't occurred to me that vampires needed vendors. But someone had to stock the House kitchens, keep folders and highlighters in the Ops Room, and ensure the crystal decanters in Ethan's office were filled with fine liquor.
Here, that duty fell to Nadia and a boatload of vendors vying for the privilege of selling their wares.
I wondered if Malik did the same thing for Cadogan House, interviewing vendors, considering bids and quotes, and reviewing contracts. It certainly would have made sense.
Ethan was the House's chief executive officer, which made Malik its chief operating officer.
A blonde with tightly hot-rolled hair and a lot of black eyeliner stepped up to the desk. "Is Mr.Greer available? Perhaps I could just speak with him if Nadia is too busy?"
Expression flat, the Fate glanced at me. "Do you remember where his office is?"
"I can find my way up," I assured her, walking away to the unhappy squeals of the woman I'd displaced in line.
Not that she'd had any chance.
I walked across the House's gigantic first floor to the arching staircase that led to the second floor. Morgan's office was there, a modern suite with a garden view. The door was closed, so I rapped my knuckles against it.
"Come in."
I stepped inside . . . and nearly lost my breath.
Morgan was half-naked, clad only in black trousers, pulling a short-sleeved white undershirt over his head, the muscles in his stomach clenching and bunching with the effort. When he was clothed, he pulled his dark, shoulder-length hair back and tied it at his nape.
It wasn't until then that he glanced over at me.
"Yes?"
I opened my mouth, then shut it again, having completely forgotten the speech I was prepared to make. Honest to God, my mind was completely blank, all rational thought having fled at the sight of his body. God knew, physical attraction was never the problem. Nothing about Morgan was the problem. I was the problem.
Ethan was the problem.
I had to shake my head to clear it. His expression went smug; I assumed he was happy he'd been able to fluster me.
"Not expecting company?" I finally managed.
Morgan sat down on the edge of a chair, pulled on socks, then lifted fancy square-toed shoes from the floor and slid his foot into one. "I just finished a workout, and we've got the dinner in an hour. What do you need?"
Realizing I was still standing in the doorway, door askew, I stepped into the room and closed it behind me.
"I wanted to update you on the investigation."
Halfway through the second shoe, his hands stilled, and he looked up at me. That's when I noticed the blue shadows under his eyes. He looked tired. It couldn't have been easy for him to fill Celina's shoes, especially given the unrest.
I didn't envy a Second forced into the role of a Master . . . and I'd helped put him there.
"Then by all means, update me."
I managed not to roll my eyes, and repeated what we'd discovered in Streeterville, what we'd learned at the bar, and what we'd learned from Paulie. By the time I was done, Morgan was fully clothed and was sitting back in the chair, fingers linked across his stomach.
"You came across town to tell me all that?"
"We've identified the guy who's been selling V to vampires. His name's Paulie Cermak. I need to know if he looks familiar."
"Yeah, well, I don't generally hang around with addicts."
The attitude wasn't unexpected. That's why I'd asked Jeff for the picture - this was about evidence, not irritation. I pulled out my phone and called up Paulie's picture. "He's not an addict. He's a salesman, at least as far as I can tell."
I walked closer and held out the phone, then watched to make sure he glanced over at it.
I'd expected Morgan to roll his eyes and tell me he hadn't seen Cermak. I'd expected him to wax sarcastic about my investigation.
I hadn't expected the wide-eyed expression.
He tensed, his shoulders squaring, his jaw clenching. He knew something.
"You've seen him," I said, before he could deny it or make his features blank again. But it still took him a minute to answer.
"Six months ago. Celina never allowed humans in the House, even before Tate issued the mandate. I was on my way up here to talk to her - I don't remember what we were meeting about. He - Cermak - was on his way out of the office. I asked her who he was. It was . . . strange that he was in the House."
So Celina had met with the man who sold V in her own House. That was all well and good, but it was completely circumstantial.
Circumstantial or not, Morgan was clearly flustered, clearly bothered by the links he was beginning to put together. Morgan closed his eyes, then scrubbed his hands over his face and linked his hands over his head. "It really, really pisses me off when you're right."
"I don't want to be right," I assured him. "I want to be the one with ludicrous theories. I don't want Celina making your job - or mine - harder."
He grunted and looked away, not ready to share the details of whatever he knew. I gave him space, walking to the other side of the office where a giant window overlooked a smartly designed courtyard.