“Yeah, I mean, I showed up, and that one had, like, five babies. I’m off the clock, Salinger. I’m taking a mental health evening.” I pull up the covers.
“I should have fucking known you were here.”
“Help, Crawford!” I holler as Salinger grabs me by the feet under the covers, hauling me and the covers off the bed.
“Oof.”
“Faulkner, get out, or I’m throwing you in the pool. You—” Salinger rounds on me.
Crawford stands in the doorway, watching my torture and execution unfold.
I run through the possible scenarios in my head for what has pissed off Salinger.
“Uh-oh,” Faulkner drawls. “I think they found out about that girl you have locked up in your penthouse.”
“You what?” Crawford bellows, charging into the room.
“Little fucker.” Salinger tackles me around the waist, throwing me to the ground before I can punch Faulkner.
We scuffle. I get two fingers in Salinger’s nose, knee him in the ribs, then I’m thrown back when Crawford gives me a brutal uppercut to the jaw.
“I fucking told you—”
“Oh, look, all the little birdies,” I slur at the ceiling.
Crawford drags me upright. “I warned you. Who the fuck do you have trapped in your apartment?”
“No one. Fuck you.” I shake him off, smooth down my shirt. “This is silk, you know. You can’t just believe everything you hear from Faulkner. I know you’ve been busy ordering overpriced dirty martinis in Manhattan, but seriously, Faulkner’s a psychopath and a liar.”
Faulkner sticks his head back in the bedroom. “You’re a psychopath.”
Salinger grabs me before I can murder him. I pick up the alarm clock on the nightstand and hurl it at Faulkner’s head.
“Can I borrow your car, Salinger?” Faulkner asks, ducking the clock.
“Absolutely not.”
“’Kay, thanks. Already have your keys.”
“You ruined my evening.” Salinger spits at me. “Carlo Jenner has organized a gang bang at your hotel.”
“Sounds like fun.” I flop back down on Salinger’s bed.
“You need to go stop it.”
“Whaa?”
“He’s your dumb-fuck hockey player.”
“No, he’s not. Carlo Jenner plays for Atlanta.”
“Uh, no. You traded for him three weeks ago.”
“Huh. How about that.”
“You cannot have a scandal on your hands with one of your hockey players running some sort of sex party in your hotel.”
“Fine.” I pull out my phone, try a few numbers. The GM isn’t answering my calls.
