Dirty Silver (The Dirty Suburbs Book 7)

by Cassie-Ann L. Miller

  "I'm sorry, Love. I've reserved a room at the Sapphire Inn this time."

  Her face drops and Bob's shaggy eyebrows dart up. "The Sapphire Inn?"

  Of course, they're surprised. I always stay with them when I'm visiting Reyfield. This time is different, though.

  I give them a bullshit excuse. "Yeah, I've got some business to attend to. I'll be working a lot so I decided to get a hotel room. I won't make a good houseguest."

  There's no masking the disappointment on Bob and Laurie's faces. Or on Eva's. "Well, that's too bad," Bob says.

  "Don't worry," I assure him, "We'll catch up. Drinks tomorrow night?"

  He gives me a weak nod. "Drinks tomorrow night."

  I let out a breath as I pull my duffel bag onto my shoulder. "Ladies." I offer a small salute.

  I don't wait for them to respond. I hustle away to the rented sports car that awaits me, eager to get out of here before my friends start to question my behavior.

  Just before I slide into the car, I look over and my eyes catch Evangeline’s. She gives me an ambiguous look that masterfully disguises the mix of contempt, desire and sadness that I know she feels. I'm acutely aware of the knot in my own gut.

  I already miss her.

  Chapter 19

  Evangeline

  When I push open the door to my luxurious high-rise condo, my fat, grumpy cat, pads over to the door, gives me a surly glare and trots back into the living room. Completely ignoring me, he perches on his window-front throne – a now-shredded pink cashmere sweater that he must have pulled out of the laundry basket in my bedroom.

  I sigh as drop my bag in the entrance and I stroll across the hardwood floor into the kitchen. “Well, it’s nice to see you, too, Mr. Tickles,” I mutter under my breath.

  The cat’s bowls sit next to the fridge, filled with food and water. But when I open the refrigerator, the only thing there is a soggy, rotting head of lettuce, a half-eaten cup of strawberry yogurt and a few bottles of sparkling water. Everything else is gone.

  I smile to myself because that means that Annaleigh’s been keeping an eye on the place like she said she would. My best friend is one of those housesitters who completely cleans out your fridge and pantry. The girl is always hungry. I can only assume that her pregnancy has made it worse.

  I grab a bottle of water and drift over to the counter where my mail is stacked up next to the empty fruit basket. I drop onto the stool and bury my face in my hands. My chest burns, it aches. I have no zeal in my limbs. All I can think about is the way that Raphael walked away, striding off to his car with barely a look back.

  He’s already forgotten about me. He’s forgotten about the time we spent together, the way we opened up to each other, the laughter, the fun. We stepped off that plane into an alternate reality, one where I don’t matter to him.

  But he matters to me. I don’t know how to neatly fold up my feelings and tuck them into a box and pretend they don’t exist. Is he really that cold, that heartless, just a hard-nosed businessman? Because I thought I’d gotten a glimpse of something else while we were together. I thought I’d met a man who was passionate and fun and adventurous. I guess I don’t know him at all.

  With a sigh, I turn my attention toward the envelopes on the counter. My chest tightens at the prospect of bills, bills and more bills. I go through the envelopes one by one. Adulting is bullshit.

  Three of the letters are not so kind notices from my internet service provider, chastising me for late payments. Then, there’s a warning letter from the electricity company. And of course, a trio of credit card bills.

  I drop my weight against the counter and my eyes sweep over the room. My stainless steel appliances, my butcher’s block counters, my granite tiles, the unbeatable view of the river meandering right below my 18th floor window.

  I’m gonna have to sell this condo…

  It’s such a gorgeous place. I remember how proud I was the day I signed that deed, the day I became a homeowner at the tender age of 19.

  My father had warned me not to buy it. It was too expensive, too ostentatious. This is Reyfield, after all, a little forgotten suburb no one ever bothers with. This 24 floor building was a little over the top, in his opinion.

  Did I really need a building with a doorman? Was the built-in sauna really necessary?

  I answered ‘yes’ to both of those questions and now I can barely pay the mortgage. Shit!

  Massaging my throbbing forehead, I reach for the last envelope in the pile. My bank statement. I tear the packaging open and my jaw nearly hits the floor when I read the transactions. A deposit of $392 475.17 into my checking account.

  The money from the auction. That dirty money.

  An awful feeling settles under my skin. I need this cash. It solves all my financial problems. But it creates a plethora of new problems as well.

  I hate the idea of using that dirty money. It makes me sick to my stomach knowing where it came from. And on top of that, I really want to give it back to Raphael. I want to prove to him that I don’t need his money, I don’t need any part of him. Not after the way he treated me. I won’t give him the pleasure of looking down on me.

  I may not know where my next paycheck is coming from but I’ve still got my pride. I’ve made up my mind. I’m giving that money back to Raphael.

  Chapter 20

  Raphael

  Daniel Trotten’s head is down as he paces to and fro next to his Mercedes. He lifts his wrist to check his watch and he frowns deeply, muttering under his breath.

  “Trotten!” I call out as I take long strides across the empty parking lot toward him.

  He looks up and adjusts his tie. Man, he’s dressed to the nines in a sharply-cut tuxedo and a bow-tie. I get that he’s a lawyer and all, but the man is far too formal for a Saturday night in a small town like Reyfield.

  On the other hand, it shows that he’s professional, I guess. He’ll be discreet and discretion is what I need most in this situation.

  “Mr. Silver.” He stretches a hand out to me and our palms clap loudly as they connect. He gives me a rough shake.

  “Thanks for meeting with me on such short notice,” I tell him. “Are you sure you don’t want to go to the hotel bar and discuss this over a drink?”

  He shakes his head and glances at his watch again. “I’m sorry. I only have a few minutes. I’m picking up my wife. Night at the theater.” His eyes fucking sparkle.

  Over taking his wife to the theater? I don’t know this guy’s situation but he must be head-over-heels, hands-tied-behind-back, pussy-whipped.

  I resist the urge to shake my head in disgust.

  For I too was once young and star-struck by a fair maiden…who had marionette strings attached to her vagina. That Diane was a manipulative bitch.

  Anyway, love is for fools and people with too much time on their hands. As for me? Never. Again.

  I struggle to ignore the picture of Eva’s smiling face that pops into my mind right at that moment, reminding me that I’m either in denial or a straight-up hypocrite. It’s ridiculous that I try to lie to myself about the way I feel for her. But if I give up the charade and just admit that I want her in my life, then what? Then-fucking-what?

  Denying it is easier.

  The unsettling truth is that I haven’t been able to get the girl out of my mind. I spent hours last night trying to convince myself that the constant parade of Eva-thoughts streaming through my mind would subside once I deal with this Simon situation and make sure that he’s out of the question for good.

  That’s why I’m meeting with Trotten today.

  “As you wish,” I say curtly to the lawyer.

  He skips over the small talk, evidently eager to get down to business. My kind of attorney. “So you mentioned that you had a legal issue. Something to do with Evangeline Brooks. You said that she was in danger?”

  I nod, suddenly realizing that I’m not at all ready to have this conversation. How do I tell this man my story without coming across as
a world-class predator? “How well do you know her?”

  He sort of shrugs. “Not very well. She’s the sister of my colleague, Prescott. He and I get along really well. In fact, I heard that you were a friend of the Brooks family. Why did you call me instead of going straight to Prescott?”

  “What I’m about to tell you, you can’t share it with him,” I blurt out quickly. “You can’t share it with anyone.”

  He chuckles shortly, digging his hands into the pockets of his tailored pants. “Okay, Mr. Silver. I’m an attorney. I understand the concept of lawyer-client privilege. You don’t have to worry about me gossiping with Prescott around the water cooler. What you tell me stays between us.”

  “This is serious, Trotten!”

  At my grave tone, his face goes solemn. “Of course.”

  I clear my throat and push back the sleeves of my black Henley, taking a quick glance around the parking lot. I plant my feet shoulder-width apart, grinding my heels into the asphalt. “I didn’t want to go into details on the phone,” I say. “But…”

  He gives me an impatient look, telepathically urging me to spit it out. He has a fucking ballet or whatever to get to.

  Even though Trotten’s car is the only one in the parking and there’s not another soul in sight, I lean in closer and drop my voice. “I own Evangeline Brooks.”

  A long silence follows. The lawyer watches me with a furrowed brow and confusion in his dark eyes as he tries to compute what I’m telling him. “I’m sorry – I don’t think I understand,” he says finally.

  “I own her,” I blurt, my own words making me anxious and slightly queasy. “I bought her a few days ago.”

  “What do you mean you bought her?”

  “I was at an auction in Manhattan –”

  “A human auction?”

  “A human auction.”

  “And you bought Evangeline Brooks?”

  “Would you keep your voice down?” I glance around again. I think I’ll need a bottle or two of scotch to get through this meeting. “I was there to close a brokerage deal with one of my sleazeball clients. I had no intention of getting involved in the bidding. But there she was, on the fucking stage, wearing next to nothing. Men were bidding on her, sick, filthy men. And one woman who seemed like she feasts on labias for breakfast. I couldn’t just let one of those freaks buy her…so I did.”

  Daniel looks at me like he can’t even believe what I’m saying. Then, his expression morphs into one of disgust and condescension. "Human trafficking is a felony, Mr. Silver."

  "Don't you think I know that?” I snap. “I didn't intend on buying anyone. But she's my best friend's daughter. I couldn't just let some random freak buy rights to her body.”

  “So you did the honors?”

  “Yes, I fucking bought her, okay?”

  He slumps back against his car and runs his hand through this neatly-combed dark hair. “Well, I’ve got to say that this is not what I was expecting when I rushed down here tonight. To learn that my friend’s sister is your sex slave.”

  “She’s in trouble, Daniel,” I grind out, losing all patience. “I need you to help me. To help her.”

  “What kind of trouble? Bigger trouble than her being your goddamned sex slave?” He gives me a sour, judgmental look.

  “She owes her modeling agency a hundred thousand dollars. The owner has been threatening her. That’s how she ended up at the auction. That was her last ditch attempt to pay him off…But I can’t let some dipshit extort her. I won’t. You have to find a way to fix this.”

  The man glances down at his watch again. “Mr. Silver, surely this can wait until Mon—” He’s headed for the driver’s side door of his car.

  “I’m paying you to fix this.” I shove a hand into my pocket and pull out a fat wad of hundreds.

  He scoffs in my face, looking all holier than thou, like he’s actually considering refusing me as a client. “I don’t need your money!”

  My fingers clench into a fist around the cash. It’s rare that I come across a problem that isn’t easily solved by throwing hundred dollar bills at it. So, I’ll have to be adaptable.

  I try to reason with him. “This is someone’s life we’re talking about, Trotten. Your ‘buddy’s’ sister. Some psycho wants to hurt her,” I insist. My point seems to hit home. His movements still. His back tenses under the tux. I’m finally getting through to him. “No – it can’t wait until Monday. You have to deal with it. Today.”

  He’s still hesitating. Still looking for a way out. There is none. Because Evangeline’s safety is on the line.

  “File a restraining order. Send a cease and desist letter. Get him to back the fuck off because if I have to do it personally, it’s going to get ugly,” I warn as heat rises into my blood.

  Slowly turning to face me, he closes his eyes for a long moment. He massages his temples and sighs. “My wife is gonna kill me…” he grumbles as he yanks the car door open. He plops himself behind the steering wheel and slams the door.

  Aww. Poor sucker.

  After a few moments, the car’s front windows roll down. I lean in through the passenger’s side window and stretch the handful of cash across the console at him. This should make it all better.

  He snatches the money out of my hand, giving me a cutting glare. The engine roars to life with the press of a button. I back away as I watch him pull out of his parking spot. He straightens the car, lining it up with the parking lot’s exit. He brings the car to a stop and leans toward me.

  “Tell me you paid in cash at that auction…”

  I press my lips together and shake my head. I can bring myself to admit out loud that I used a check. I left a damn paper trail.

  The lawyer’s eyes darken further. “You really fucked up, y’know,” he growls. And then he pulls out of the parking lot, leaving a trail of dust behind him.

  Chapter 21

  Evangeline

  "He's cute," Annaleigh coos as she grabs her root beer float off of the table, bringing the frosty glass to her lips.

  Blakely tilts her head to the side, inspecting the photo closely before giving a slow nod. "Yeh, I see you with a guy like him," she says with a grin, her green eyes flitting to mine.

  I give the photo a cursory glance and turn up my nose at Thad, an underwear model I met at a photo shoot in Venice. Or was it Rome? I'm not sure at this point. All I know is that he's not my type. At least, not anymore.

  "Too pretty.” I scowl. “Looks like he spent the morning watching contouring videos on YouTube."

  My friends giggle. "Okay, next!" Annaleigh commands Blakely who dutifully scrolls down to the next guy before holding up the phone for my inspection.

  "Ooh! Isn't he handsome?" Annaleigh looks all excited as she leans over Blakely's shoulder, jabbing a finger at the screen.

  Blakely tilts the phone my way, her expression mirroring Annaleigh's excitement. "You've got to think he's cute. Admit it, Eva!"

  Ugh!

  The three of us are having drinks in a corner booth at the Opal Lounge, one of two Saturday night hang-outs in Reyfield. Honestly, I'd rather be in bed right now. I'm not in the mood for company. But my girls insisted. We haven't seen each other in months and as far as they're concerned, it's only a matter of days until I jet off to the next faraway location for another photo shoot or fashion show. So anyway, we're having drinks and they've decided to entertain themselves by trying to play matchmaker between me and the guys in my Facebook feed.

  Rolling my eyes at a photo of Craig, a personal trainer I met when I was out in L.A, I lift my appletini to my lips. "I've seen him at the gym. He has no dick print. None...Never trust a guy who has no dick print in a pair of clingy nylon sweat pants."

  Blakely laughs giddily but Annaleigh is beginning to look impatient. She snatches the phone out of Blakely's hand and scrolls further down. "What about him?" she asks snarkily. "What's wrong with him?"

  It's a picture of a plaid-wearing hipster. His beard that looks like a hay bale growing
on his cheeks. I vaguely remember him as a photographer on a shoot I did in Vancouver last year.

  I scrunch up my nose. "He smells like vinegar. I enjoy a little balsamic on my salads, but not between my sheets."

  Blakely titters again. She used to be shy and painfully reserved but I swear, since she and her roommate Nicholas fell in love, it's like she's on a steady diet of laughing gas. And I’ve got to say, ‘happy’ looks good on her.

  Annaleigh on the other hand, does not seem amused. She and my brother got married in a shotgun wedding that no one saw coming and her life’s purpose immediately became pushing me to get into a serious relationship. I’ve resisted vehemently because I'm an emotional drifter and I've never really met a guy who could hold my attention beyond a few decent orgasms.