Tristan holds his hand at the front of his neck and yanks it to the side in one smooth motion. The cutthroat motion. “End it. Now.”
Wow. He looks really pissed off. I wonder what set him off.
“Umm… Tristan is waiting with breakfast on the table. I don’t want to be rude so I need to go.”
“Okay.”
“Talk soon. Love you.” I never tell my brother that I love him when we end a casual call. Surely, he’ll recognize that something is up.
“Love you too, sis.”
I end the call, and Tristan holds out his hand for my phone. “I wasn’t aware that your father disliked me so much. Why is that?”
“I don’t know.”
“Sure you do.”
“No. Really. He never told us why we were to stay away from you and your casino.”
“You were supposed to stay away from me and yet you didn’t? Why is that?”
“I have a bad habit of not doing as I’m told.” It gets me into trouble more than I care to admit.
The wicked smile on his face tells me that something about that statement pleases him greatly. But his smile quickly fades when there’s another buzz from the pocket inside his jacket.
He slams his fist on the table. “Motherfucker!”
Reaching into his jacket, he takes out a phone. “What?”
His mouth is a hard line and the muscles in his jaw are fixed. This man has one hell of a temper. And it frightens me.
“Give me fifteen.”
He ends the call and sits back in his chair. His hard expression begins to soften as he studies my face.
“Have somewhere to be?”
“I have a nine o’clock appointment, and she has arrived early. Which would normally make me happy but not when it steals away time that I had planned to spend with you.” He looks at his watch. “I have about three minutes to talk before I must leave.”
“Three minutes isn’t very long.”
“Agreed.”
His angry mood seems to have passed as quickly as it came on. “Please let me go.”
“No.” No consideration. No hesitation. Just a hard no.
“I can go to the bank and take out seventy-five grand right now. Give me one day, and I can come up with the other twenty-five.”
Technically I didn’t take a full hundred grand. I had twenty on the table last night that I left behind and didn’t cash out. But I highly doubt that he’s in the mood to have that discussion.
“I’m not letting you go. At least not yet.”
I didn’t want to have to go to Dad for help, but I will if it gets me out of this shit. “Let me call my dad. He’ll pay you whatever you want.”
He pushes away from the table. “I’m not having this conversation with youagain.”
“Why not?”
