“We have a problem.”
“What is it?”he demands.
“Are you home or at the court?”
“Still home.”
“What about Hawke and Rome?”
“We were going to leave in ten, so we could meet?—”
“Stay where you are,” I order.“I’ll be there in five.”
8
FORD
The drive is short.I pull my lime green Jaguar F-Type R Coupe with a V8 through the wrought iron gate, up the long driveway, and shove my car into park in the garage.Throwing open the heavy front door, I storm into the house, finding everyone already waiting for me in the family room.Most are in their athletic clothes, having prepared to meet at the basketball court until I called an emergency meeting.
“What is it?”Jagger demands the same way he did on the phone minutes ago.
Oh, where to fucking start?
Their attention zeroes in on me as I set my laptop on the coffee table with the restraint of a damn saint.“Guess who I ran into outside the Miller building?”I grit out.
Jagger’s eyes thin as they connect with Hawke’s, then flick to Roman’s.
“Are we talking Judge or your father or?—”
“Ethan Morgan,” I announce.
Jagger’s brows jump.“Outside the Miller building?”
My head jerks up and down.
“No shit?Why?”
I fight the urge to laugh like a fucking supervillain.“He was taking a bet from one of our clients.”
Roman stands.“Here?”
I nod.“Yeah.”
“You serious?”Hawke pushes.
I nod again, too pissed off to crack a joke about Erectile Dysfunction being a serious condition like I would under different circumstances.
“Did he see you?”Jagger prods.
A low, humorless laugh escapes me.“Yeah.Yeah, you could say that.”I collapse onto the couch and cross one ankle over the other on the coffee table, making sure not to rest my feet on my laptop.“We talked.I pissed him off.Probably should’ve beat the shit out of him, but I restrained myself.Yes, I know.Me.Restraining myself.What is this world?”I stretch my arms out, clasping the back of the couch.“Then, I warned Cody it was a bad idea to place a wager with a guy who likely can’t even pay out.Called you.And, here I am.”
Damn.Even the summary ratchets up my anger.The lack of substance.All we’re left with are more questions.More unknowns.
As if thinking the same thing, Hawke squeezes the back of his neck from the chair next to the fireplace.“So, what now?”
“We come up with an actual plan,” I suggest.“Or at the very least, something to stay relevant.”
“Fight Night wasn’t even a month ago,” Jagger reminds me.
