The second I answer, I’m already smiling.
“Tell me you’ve met a millionaire so I can quit my job and move in next door,” she says.
“You think if I had, I’d have time to talk to you?” I tease.
“Filip says hi,” she adds. Filip is our other best friend.
“Tell him I said hi back.”
“What are you doing?” she asks.
I glance down at my drink, watching the last of the cream melt into the chocolate.
“I just spent my final bit of loose change on a hot chocolate.”
There’s a pause.
“I know you hate the idea,” she says gently, “but you’re going to have to get a cleaning job. Or bar work. Or . . . . . . anything.”
“I know,” I mumble.
It’s not that I think those jobs are beneath me—Mum spent years cleaning for wealthy families—but if I take something full-time, it feels like I’m giving up. Like I’m letting go of the dream before I’ve even really had a chance.
I slow as I pass a small bar. A handwritten sign in the window catches my eye, and I stop.
“What about a live-in carer?” I ask, a small smile tugging at my lips.
“It solves the rent problem,” Kate replies.
My grip tightens slightly around my phone.
“How hard can it be?” I murmur. “I helped look after Mum . . . right?”
RAY
“I hate liars,” I say.
“But—”
I lift a hand, and he shuts his mouth instantly.
“It’s the one thing I won’t tolerate.” My voice stays calm, measured. “I’m honest with you, aren’t I?”
He nods quickly, not daring to interrupt me again.
“I expect the same courtesy. You knew that when you signed the agreement.”
“Yes, boss.”
I turn my back on him and look out the office window. London hums below, busy and indifferent. From up here, the people look like ants—small, insignificant, rushing from one place to the next.
“Tell me, Azeem,” I say quietly, “how will you deal cards without a hand?”
I close my eyes. Dale moves first, efficient, almost silent. There’s a struggle, a groan escaping as he fights off my men. It’s followed by his scream cutting through the room, raw and desperate. A second later, it’s muffled. Jack, no doubt, has forced something into his mouth.
I don’t turn around. I let it play out, minutes passing before I finally open my eyes and face them.
Azeem lies slumped in the chair, unconscious.
