He exhales, standing.
“Your daddy bought problems, too. Bought ‘em, fed ‘em, called it love.” He drawls the words as he rolls a sleeve up his forearm. “Thought money fixed everything. Thought if you threw enough at the world, it’d love you back.”
He gestures to the folder.
“What now—you want the label to kiss it better? Reimburse you, write you a thank-you card for wastin’ money and time to clean up the legal shitstorm you just handed us?”
He clicks his tongue,
his eyes finding mine again.
“Wiring a washed-up junkie a pity check doesn’t make you a good person. It makes you stupid and sloppy.” His barbed smirk returns. “Gotta learn, baby. A business doesn’t run on feelings.”
The word?—
junkie—
punctures through the center of my chest.
Eli was never a junkie.
His parents were.
But I bury it deep.
“Reimburse me, don’t reimburse me, call it a donation, the Acting-CEO’s-a-Douche fund—whatever. Clean it up, make it legal. I’m not here for Eli. I’m here for the next two wires. Holly and Sierra. They’ve waited long enough.”
Amusement dances in his eyes.
“No.”
Heat rises up my neck.
My teeth grind. “No?”
I force my chin up.
“Then don’t be shocked when I start diggin’.”
Raymond faces the floor, his smile faltering.
“Relax, Ray-Ray. I’m not coming for your throne. Just wanna make sure the cash isn’t slippin’ into greedy pockets." I lean my hip into the desk. “I got time. I’ll do all the leg work. Anything for the label.”
His laugh falls out,
but dies before it takes a breath.
“You? Audit me? Baby, you still Google what time it is in L.A. before makin’ a call.”
He steps around the desk, drawing closer.
“But you go ahead. Knock yourself out.
“And when you’re done playin’ boss, here’s a lesson for you?—”
The heat of his hand brushes my cheek,
thumb following, skimming the bone.
