“Really?” he snaps at me. “When was the last time you were arrested?”
“Let me talk to him,” I offer, ignoring his question.
He snorts.
I sit back down in my seat. “Seriously. I’ll take him out this weekend. Just feel him out.” I gesture at the paper on my desk. “You know how reporters lie about shit. Maybe what is written and what actually happened are two different things.” Doubtful, but it was worth a try. I’ll have to ask Cross if he was there with him. And if he wasn’t, then that’s who Grave would have called to bail him out.
He snatches the paper off my desk. Wads it up and tosses it into my trash. “Fine. But if you don’t talk some sense into him, my fists are going to.”
My cell rings, and I pick it up. “Hello?” I ask as Bones plops down in the chair across from my desk, letting out an annoyed sigh.
“Titan. I have something you might want to know,” the man says in greeting.
“What is it?” I ask, closing my eyes, wishing this damn day was over. The bitch just started.
“Nick York passed away.”
They pop open. “When?” I demand, and Bones sits up straight, noticing the change in my voice.
“Last week. Heart attack.”
I hang up.
“What was that about?” he asks.
I set my phone on the desk and lean back in my seat. “Nick York passed away. Heart attack.”
His brows rise. “Interesting.”
That is interesting, considering that Bones used to fuck his only daughter. And the fact that his business partner owes us five hundred thousand dollars.
That is very interesting.I pick up my phone and make another call.
EMILEE
Standing at thefloor-to-ceiling window that overlooks the Las Vegas Strip, I don’t see the casinos or tourists that walk the streets with their phones out, taking picture after picture. Instead, all I see are my blue puffy eyes and runny nose. I quickly wipe the tears away that silently continue to come no matter how much I try to stop them.
My body is heavy. My chest tight, and my heart is shattered.
Two months ago, I found out that my mother was sick.She is going to die; the doctor had said.There is nothing we can do, he had added. I’ve spent the past two months trying to prepare myself to tell her goodbye. To find a way to be at peace that her suffering will end, and she will no longer be in pain.
But I could have never prepared myself for this.
Two days ago
Sitting on the floor in the middle of my Chicago apartment with boxes surrounding me, I have one open between my legs. I’m shoving scarfs into it when I hear my phone ring in the other room.
I let out a long breath, blowing the loose strands from my ponytail off my face as I debate whether I want to answer it or not.
I’ve been avoiding my friends and their endless questions that will come when I answer. I went home to Vegas a couple of months ago and was told that my mother is dying. My time is limited. I had to come back to get a few things in order and pack up my apartment while putting it up for sale. While I was there, one of my best friends, Jasmine, had called me, and I told her what happened. I should have kept my mouth shut, but it was like vomit. I was unable to hold in the emotions that flooded me. I told her. I know she’s spoken to our other best friend Haven by now. She’s been blowing up my phone, but I just don’t have the words. I don’t have the energy to talk about it.
It quits, and I feel relieved. But then it immediately starts up again. Getting to my feet, I step over a few tubs full of clothes and make my way down the hallway to my bedroom at the end. I pick up my phone off my queen-size bed and frown when I see the number.
It’s my father’s business partner. “Hello?” I answer.
“Emilee …” He sighs, and my heart begins to pound.
“Is my mom okay?” I rush out. Maybe my father had to take her to the hospital, and that’s why he didn’t call me himself.
