9
Over London
9:47 a.m.
Since they had left Leamington in Alistair’s helicopter—because technically it was his brother’s helicopter and not the company’s—Laetitia had begun to unnerve him with her monosyllabic answers.
In the last several minutes, she became taciturn, sitting so rigidly, hands gripped tightly on her lap, facing away from him. Tavish wondered if she was sick. “Are you feeling well?”
“I’m fine,” she muttered, looking out the window.
“What’s the problem?”
She pushed her sunglasses up and fixed her gaze on him. “This was supposed to be a settling of”—she made quotes in the air—“taxes and all that, and not a meeting with the whole Blue Dot top brass.”
His brows rose. “Will it hurt to hear what my brother has to say?”
Yes, it will hurt. “Mr. MacCraig. We agreed I had un
