GREED(13)

“Just a moment,” she said, secreting to some area in the back.

I leaned against the counter, ready to beg loudly for her to return quickly that I was in so much pain.

She returned a minute or two later but it felt like an eternity.

“Mister Blackwell, it appears you don’t have a profit balance.”

My mouth went dry. “Excuse me?”

She peered at a computer screen in front of her. “Yes, it seems you lost your balance. There’s actually a settlement owed of five million seven hundred thousand.”

My heart leapt into my throat. “That cannot be,” I insisted, bracing my head in my hands. I didn’t think it could take much more pressure. “Okay, uh,” I breathed. “Charge it to my father’s account,” I told her.

“Of course,” she said.

When he found out, he would remove my signing privileges.

“Thank you,” I muttered before heading toward the lobby and sitting down in the nearest chair to catch my breath.

I lost it all. I was relying on that two million to fund part my freedom. Now, I knew I was going to have to live another year under my dad’s thumb to make it up.



The very thought made me want to wretch. So I did. All over the expensive marble floor.





I held out her chair for her and she tucked herself within it as I pushed her in place. I glanced around me. Every eye in the place was peeled and staring a hole through the miniscule dress I begged her to change out of but she didn’t. Bridge never listened to me when it came to that stuff. Ever.

“Assholes,” I spoke between gritted teeth toward all the leering eyes.

When I sat myself, I immediately shot a blazing look at the fifty-year-old idiot at the next table. He was sporting a wedding ring and was undressing Bridge with his eyes. When he caught me staring, his eyes popped wide for a moment. Embarrassed, his bright red round face found the ceiling. Apparently, it was fascinating. I had something just as fascinating—my fist. In his stupid face. My hand closed, the skin at my knuckles pulling tight, the blood fighting to reach my fingers. After Vegas, I was in the mood for a fight.

“I’m pregnant,” I heard at my left, shocking me. My gaze whipped back to her face. My heart pounded in my chest. My hands fell open.

For a brief moment we sat there, quiet, unmoving, the asshole forgotten. My breath rushed in and out of me, hurried and burdensome.

My hand shot out and my water glass shook, the water sloshing violently as I brought it to my lips.

Suddenly, I’d never been thirstier.

The entire contents poured down my throat in one fluid spill. I set the glass down slowly, using both hands to steady the shivering glass, and I sat up a little. I’d unwittingly slumped in my chair. I wiped at my mouth with the linen napkin laying to my right. The pressed, starched, perfect napkin that I absently noted my father would have complained about simply because he could.

“How?” I asked, swallowing hard.

She raised a single brow. “Well, you see, when a man and a woman get together—”

“Bridge,” I nearly shouted, slamming my hand on the table. The utensils clinked and rang, sliding into the china setting. “This isn’t a time for jokes.” I gritted my teeth, reminding me of my father. Her eyes clenched tightly and her bottom lip began to quake. Right away, I pulled my lips apart. I relaxed my fist and let my hand slip off the table. I asked as kindly as I could, “How, Bridge?”

She took a deep, wobbly breath and turned her stare away from mine. “I don’t know, to be honest.” Little bits of moisture began to gather at the corners of her eyes. She examined her water glass, running her finger along the base of the goblet.

“Who?” I asked, ignoring the tears.

I didn’t have time for tears. I didn’t have time for sympathy. We were in deep shit. She knew it. I knew it.

“I don’t want to say,” she said.

Her eyes moved to her lap as she absently meddled with the napkin laying across her knees.

“I’m your brother, Bridge.” I leaned toward her over the table and narrowed my eyes. “I need to know who I plan to kill.”

Her eyes trained themselves on mine. “Don’t be an overdramatic idiot. And I won’t say a single word anyway. I told the father and he wants nothing to do with it.” My blood boiled to a dangerous temperature. Asshole. “I asked you to dinner for one reason and one reason only.”

I closed my eyes and took a good, solid breath. “What do you need?”

“Help telling dad.”

I nodded, still absorbing it all and attempting to bring my heart rate down. Then it dawned on me.

“The nausea,” I said, recalling the day I’d arrived.