“Please, my dear,” he interrupted. “Don’t try to tell me that you can’t do it.” There was a grating sound in the background, and then a noise that could only be an agonized cry. I sucked in a sharp breath through my nostrils, the back of my hand against my mouth. I couldn’t make a sound. Couldn’t let out the wail that was trying to escape.
“How?” I breathed out the word.
“I will send you the details,” he answered. “Be sure not to ignore any more of my communications.”
I nodded, then whispered another hoarse, “Yes.” And the line went dead.
I sat on the cool tiles for several long minutes, my knees pulled up against my chest.
What am I going to do? What the fuck am I going to do?
“Sasha?”
Fuck! Fuck-fuck-fuck!
“Just a minute!” I responded, amazed when I found my voice.
“You okay in there?” His voice seemed closer.
Oh, God, why did it have to be now? Now, when he seemed so focused on me? I wasn’t going to be able to hide my anxiety from him.
“Be right out!” I pushed myself to my feet, staggered to the basin, and splashed my face with cold water. A look in the mirror confirmed my worst fears. Not only were my eyes still raw and puffy, but now I looked like I’d seen a ghost. I pinched my cheeks, smoothed my hair back, and took several deep breaths.
It made no difference at all. And there was no way I could stall another moment longer. I stepped out of the bathroom and headed back to the kitchen, prepared to face the music.
The counter where we’d shared breakfast these past weeks had been set with a pair of plates, along with a broad wooden board. On it was an assortment of chopped fresh vegetables, cold meats, slivers of cheese…
I couldn’t eat it. Could barely look at it.
He glanced up as I returned, and he stilled as he caught sight of my face.
“What’s wrong?”
I shook my head, not knowing how to approach this situation.
“Was it…did she—?”
He was assuming Angelique had done something else. How could I ever tell him about my brother?
I shook my head again, still torn over what I knew I had to do.
“Sasha…” His voice had dropped several octaves.
“I need a hundred thousand dollars. Tomorrow,” I blurted.
Prince stopped what he was doing. Put down the knife. Picked up a dishtowel on the counter beside him and slowly dried his hands. He set the towel on the counter, then leaned back against the work surface and folded his arms across his chest. He narrowed his eyes on me and a muscle twitched in his jaw.
Oh shit. Oh shit.
This was it. The end. Whatever may have been between us was all over. It would never survive something like this.
But Emilio…I was stuck. There was just no other way out.
“Cash or transfer?” he asked.
My heart was thumping so hard I was sure he could hear it.
“I’ll know shortly,” I said, amazed at how steady my voice had become.
He dipped his head. Pulled away from the counter, and stepped around me as he slid out a chair for me to sit in.
“You need to eat,” he said, as if we hadn’t just spoken about the money. I was suddenly speechless again.
What was going through his mind?
Just hours ago, he’d come home to find me weeping over being called a whore. Then we’d had sex…and now I was asking him for cash. Part of me wished he’d ask what it was for. If I could just explain, he’d understand how important this was.
But how could I do that?
How could I tell him about Razortip, and admit to him that I’d been lying to him from the start?
