“Agreed,” Clarke said as she continued to work. “He needs to kill Grant’s brother. Then y’all will be free of the drama.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Kill the entire family then, whoever’s left. Call a family meeting, blow up the building.” Berkeley rolled out of bed and then stretched her arms over her head. “It’s not that difficult. If you want, I can do it for you?”
She looked so damn serious that I had to blink a few seconds to try to process what she was saying. “Do you happen to know someone named Xoey St. Thomas?” I couldn’t help but ask. She reminded me so much of Xoey that there was no way they couldn’t be friends, or at least, know each other.
“No, should I?” Berkeley asked with a curious expression.
“Yes,” I nodded.
“Introduce us then,” she suggested, then took the piece of wood from Clarke and closed Spelman’s laptop as she walked toward the door. “Now let’s go get something to eat. I’m hungry and feel like exploring the city a little.”
“We don’t even have a way to get around,” Clarke said as she stood. She was the shortest of us, yet the curviest. Her dark curls framed her face, and I couldn’t help but notice how much we favored each other. Our skin tones were similar, we wore our hair the same way, damn near the same height, and close to the same weight.
“Tulane has cars,” Berkeley shrugged. “He can either give us the keys to one, or I can steal it.” She turned around and walked backwards. She smiled proudly, and all I could do was laugh.
“And you’re a psychologist, right?” I asked, and she nodded. I looked over at Clarke and Spelman. “And what do y’all do?”
“Sports agent,” Spelman answered. Instantly, my thoughts went to Pyrite and all his teams.
“You said you met the Stone brothers?” I questioned, and she nodded. “So that means you met Pyrite? You know he owns Stone ENT and has a few teams.”
“I’m aware,” she replied. “We already have a few meetings set up. I have players that he wants, and he has an open position on his team that I want.”
“You’d work for Pyrite?” I stopped walking, which made them stop as well. If she worked for Pyrite, she’d have to live in Kansas City. Everyone on his team lived locally, and I told her that.
Spelman’s face twisted, then, just as quickly as the hesitation had appeared, it disappeared, and she shrugged. “I don’t have anything permanent, so moving isn’t something that’s a deal breaker.”
“And you said you built him a house?” I turned to Clarke, who was now carving a new piece of wood. Where the hell she got it from was beyond me.
“Yes,” she said without looking up. “He contacted me a few years ago. Said some bullshit about wanting a house for his family and didn’t have a budget. I sent him over a few designs, he fell in love with one I designed, and my team spent the next two years building it.”
“Two years?” I repeated, and she nodded. “What the hell took two years to build?”
“It wasn’t the build that was the problem, but the permits. The city kept finding bullshit excuses not to approve things.” She shrugged like it was no big deal, and to her, it probably wasn’t, but I would’ve been annoyed.
“We need to keep walking, this house is too fucking big, and I’m hungry,” Berkeley said. She linked her arms with Clarke’s, and they walked down the hallway.
“What happened with the house you built for Tulane?” I asked as they passed me.
“You’re standing in it,” she answered.
Spelman and I shared a look before we looked around the hallway. The house was huge, with its hardwood floors, tall ceilings, and large windows. When I first arrived, Tulane gave me the basic rundown: the house had seven bedrooms, nine bathrooms, and a finished basement. I hadn’t explored beyond my bedroom, which was basically a one-bedroom apartment, the kitchen, and the living room. Now I wanted to see everything.
“You said that shit so casually,” I laughed. “This house is huge.”
“Not the biggest I’ve built,” she said with a shrug. “Not even the biggest I’ve built this year, in fact.” She looked over her shoulder at me and smirked. “The house I built for you on the beach is prettier than this one.”
“You own C’s Foundation?”
“Yep,” she nodded, then turned back around. “When you’re ready, we can go see your house.”
We walked into the kitchen to find Tulane standing at the stove, looking confused. In front of him was a rack of ribs; they looked and smelled good as hell. My stomach growled, and my mouth watered. Tulane looked over his shoulder at us, then turned back to the ribs.
“They aren’t right.” He poked at the ribs with a fork, then kissed his teeth. “Not tender enough, and they don’t smell right. Spelman, I think I forgot to do something, but I can't think of what it is.”
“We need your keys, Tulane,” Berkeley said. She let go of Clarke’s arm and leaned against the island that was in the middle of the kitchen.
