Sold to the Hitman: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance Novel(74)

“That’s adorable. You must’ve been his hero, Katy.”

“Yeah. There was a pretty wide age gap, you know. Eight years. But he was still like my best friend in a lot of ways. We used to quote cartoons at the dinner table to annoy Mom and Dad. They could never figure out what we were talking about. I miss him a lot,” I say with a sigh.

“I can’t even imagine,” Natalie says.

“It helps being busy all the time, you know,” I reply, trying to brighten my tone.

“Well, running the club definitely keeps you on your feet.”

“That’s for sure,” I murmur. “I just hope I can keep it afloat. I kinda feel like the club and I are both running on fumes at this point.”

“Owning a business is a lot of pressure, Katy,” she replies, shaking her head. “But you gotta realize that you’re not alone in this, okay? We’re all here for you. I know it sucks that all those guys quit when your dad died because they couldn’t handle working there without him around. I get that. I can’t really blame them. They were all good friends and some people just can’t cope very well. Just know that they didn’t leave because they wanted to abandon you, alright? And either way, you got me, Ashton, Charles, and the rest of the crew on your side. We won’t let you or the club go down without a fight.”

“I know. I’m lucky to have you guys around,” I answer, beaming. Despite the burden on my shoulders and the dark cloud of an unpaid debt looming over my head, it really did feel good to know that my employees were in this for the long haul.

“So, weird question: is this on the list of things to sell?” Natalie asks, holding up the binder of baseball cards. I stare at it for a long moment, pondering what degree of guilt I would suffer if I were to sell my dad’s beloved memorabilia.

“I don’t know,” I answer uncertainly.

“Because I can tell you right now, some of these cards are probably worth a pretty good amount of money at this point. Nothing too insane, of course, but it could help,” she explains. “But that’s only if you’re okay with it. I know it’s hard to let go of stuff like this sometimes. No judgment if you decide to just hold onto it.”

I bite my lip and shake my head slowly. “I might have to put that on hold.”

“Totally understandable. We’ll put it in the “not today” pile.”

I start looking through the online auction pages on my tablet, checking the competition. “Maybe I could sell my body parts on the black market,” I muse aloud.

“I hear kidneys go for, like, ten thousand each or something,” Natalie says, playing along.

“Oh, that’s perfect. I don’t need my kidneys anyway. What have they ever done for me?”

“And ten thousand is enough for, what, two months? Best idea yet.”

“What about my liver? Surely I can do without that.”

“Katy, you own a club. Where alcohol is served. Your liver is very important.”

We both laugh and I get to my feet. “On that note, do you want any more wine? I know I could really use something to make this a little less depressing.”

Natalie yawns and slides her phone screen open, squinting at the digital clock. “Aw man. Actually, I think I need to head out. I’m supposed to meet my mother for dinner, unfortunately.”

“Oh, that sounds like a good time,” I say from the kitchen. I hear Natalie scoff in disagreement. I open the refrigerator and pour myself another glass of wine.

“Yeah, listening to my mom list the many reasons why she’s disappointed in me is always a real party,” she retorts, and I can almost feel her rolling her eyes.

“Do you want a shot or something before you go, then?” I offer, only half serious.

She laughs and waves her hand dismissively. “Don’t tempt me, Katy. The last thing I need is for her to accuse me of being an alcoholic, too!” She gets up and opens her arms to hug me before she plucks up her bag and sweater.

“Good luck with all this,” she says to me before she leaves.

I shrug. “I got it. No big deal. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Yep. I’ll be the one behind the bar.”

And with that, she walks out into the hall and gets into the elevator. I plop down on the couch again, swirling my glass of wine absentmindedly. Looking around the room at all the memories strewn about, I heave a sigh, realizing that I still don’t know what the hell I’m even going to do. I start researching how much I could sell my couch for, when suddenly there’s a sharp knock at the door. I glance over in confusion. It’s eight o’clock at night.