Rolling my eyes, I refuse to give into his games. “Does she still work here? Better yet, is she here?”
“What do you want with her?”
“None of your damn business.” I shove past him, brushing my shoulder against his staunch stance. I head toward the stairwell that leads to the basement, but Mickey lurches and seizes my forearm. His grips is so tight there’s no doubt it’ll bruise.
“You’re not going down there!”
“Fine.” I snatch away from his grasp. “Is Velvet here or not?”
“Not.”
“Would you tell me if she was?”
Mickey folds his pudgy arms across his big, man boobs. “What do you think?” He stands with his back to the stairwell.
I don’t have to respond because the Hispanic woman comes sauntering up the steps. “Hola, did I hear my name?”
Mickey seethes, flaring his nostrils and balling up his ham fists. “Goddammit!”
I dip around him, planting myself in the girl’s path. “Hey, yeah. Can I have a minute?”
Velvet darts her over gaze at her boss.
He doesn’t wait for her to answer before butting in. “Right here is fine. And you have thirty seconds.”
I nip at my bottom lip, biting back my initial reaction. I clear my throat and block his view. I’ll take whatever dig I can give him. “Did you call me today?”
Velvet wrinkles her face and gives a quick shake. Her long, black hair fans across her bare shoulders.
I don’t miss standing around having casual conversations in two pieces of floss.
“You didn’t call me earlier? And get cut off?”
“No. Que pasa?”
“Do you know where Willow is? How to get in touch with her?”
Velvet twitches her bright red lips. “I haven’t talked to her. Not since she quit.”
I narrow my gaze, glancing over my shoulder at Mickey before looking back at the woman. She’s now wringing her hands, fidgeting back and forth.
“Wait,” I start. “She quit? I thought you said you fired her?” I turn, backing up.
He shoots a glare at the almost naked stripper. “Yeah, that’s what I meant,” she says.
My eye tooth pops through my bottom lip when I bite down and my dry mouth waters from the bitter tinge of blood. “Well, if it wasn’t you, guess I’ll try something else.” I make my way through the room, ready to scram.
“Yeah, why don’t you do that?” The voice comes from the dark hallway.
Just what I fucking need.
Jewella.
“What the hell are you doing here? Looking for a titty to suck on, Baaaybbby? Didn’t know you swung that way.”
I fight the urge to put my fist through her gaunt, weathered face as adrenaline rages through my buzzing body.
“Just leaving.”
“Yeah, why don’t you do that,” Mickey spits through clenched teeth.
You don’t have to tell me twice.
I rush into the crowded street, attempting to conceal myself. My heart beats wildly in my chest and I duck into the first convenience store that sells phone cards and throw money on the counter before fleeing.
“Ma’am! Your change!”
I ignore the man shouting at me from behind the counter and hightail it down the sidewalk while scratching the pin number off the card. I prepare to load it to my phone until I press the button.
Of course, it’s dead.
Why wouldn’t it be dead?
There’s nothing left to do but head home and hope the girl doesn’t end up like Lolli. Her body has yet to show up… probably because it’s weighted down at the bottom of the river.
*
Waiting for the phone to ring is like watching a pot of water and waiting for it to boil.
Nothing.
I hold the receiver all night waiting to hear from Lucky or Willow. Thankfully, Ma’Linn was fast asleep. I didn’t have to share my craptastic day with her. That woman already has enough to deal with.
After I got my cell up and running earlier, I tried Lucky again… twice, but finally left a message. I hate it because I realize he must be seriously pissed off if he flat out refuses to talk to me. My thoughts become consumed sometime around three in the morning, wondering where Willow got my home number. Only a few people have it, and that was only because of Momma and dealing with lawyers.
Ma’Linn gave it to a couple people in hopes of passing it on to Phillipe. She still hasn’t heard from her son, not since finding out that he’s still alive, or at least he was, and working for Slade.
My heavy lids begin to betray me as the phone rattles, sending me into a confused fit. I try to gain my bearings but click the button in a hurry. “Hello? Willow?”
“Ms. Belhomme?”
I recognize the voice and I glance at the clock on the table. Seven in the morning is early to be getting a call from your attorney.
“Mr. Bossier. Sorry, I thought it was someone else. What can I do for you?”
“Well, you can get to work.”
I crane my neck. “Sorry?”
“We need you to make yourself known at the office. You need to be a recognized face. A daily figure.”
“Can I do that with all of this shit still up in the air?” The thought of having to go back to that smug, stuffy oversized closet of assholes disguised as a high-rise building.
“Absolutely. You need to make an appearance, and often. You need to get involved in the work. Make some decisions. The judge is holding up his decision to freeze the assets, but that’s just because he has to. Once I file for an emergency hearing, this will all be taken care of. I’m preparing a witness list to authenticate Mr. Flanagan’s will. With the other information in the file you received from Mr. Gauthier, this is a closed case. We just have to get over this one speedbump.”
A multi-million-dollar speedbump.
“Is Mr. Gauthier still prepared to be a witness?”
I give a weighted sigh. “About that, I may have spoken too soon.”
“Damn. Well, the case isn’t dependent on him, but it sure would move this along.” He pauses for a moment. “Ok, why don’t you get yourself into the office and we’ll go from there.”
My insides feel like someone poured cement through my body. “Sounds good. Thank you, Mr. Bossier.”
“Just sit tight. We’ll get it all taken care of,” he says before hanging up.
That man is dead set on getting his insane lawyer fees. Whatever keeps the rich son of a bitch motivated.
Now, I’m tasked with finding proper attire for the Gauthier offices.
Fuck my life.
*
The trail of glares sears a metaphorical hole through the back of my sleeveless, silk tank. It’s the only thing I could find to go with my skirt. A tight, black mini. The heels match, but also happen to be five-inch stilettos.
Needless to say, I stick out like a stripper sweating in a boardroom or something just as awful.
“Ms. Belhomme. I’m sorry. We weren’t expecting you. Mr. Gauthier is out of the office. What can I do for you?” A young woman pops out from behind her well-organized desk.
“Wendy, right?”
The secretary nods.
I inhale a deep lungful of air, pull back my shoulders, and tip my chin. It’s now or never. “Yeah, I don’t need Mr. Gauthier. What I need is an office.”
I give her credit for fighting to hide the shocked expression that betrayed her futile attempt. She smiles. Still kind like I remember. “I’m not sure what to do about that without someone from management. Maybe we can set you up in…”
“Sorry, but just show me to my father’s old office. That’ll work fine.”
“Um, well, that…” The girl surveys my hard face. “Yes, ma’am. Right this way.”
We walk a few feet before stopping right next door to what is now Lucky’s office. She opens the door and moves out of the way, revealing an empty room.
Stark ass bare.
“What’s
this?”
Wendy peers up at me. “This is Mr. Flanagan’s old office.”
“Why does it look like this? There’s no desk or shelves.”
She clears her throat and drops her gaze. “Because the former Mr. Gauthier was going to knock out the wall and double the size of his office.”
“Former?”
“Yes, ma’am. Mr. Colby Gauthier.”
“Ah, it all makes sense now. I swear, you would think that family comes from Texas. You know, the land where bigger is better?”
She smirks, and I don't know why but I’m pleased with myself.
“Ok,” I continue. “First things first. Let’s get someone up here to set me up a desk. We need a chair, some file cabinets. And definitely some shelves. This is so damn dreary.” I pause, thinking it’s better than coming into a room filled with my birth father’s belongings. I don’t have time for sentimental shit.
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll call maintenance right away.” She nods and turns to walk away.
“Thanks. Oh, Wendy, one more thing.”
The woman puts the phone back down. She’s quick. “Ma’am?”
“Let’s start the process on finding me a secretary.”
“You want me to do that, ma’am?”
I tilt my head. “Yes, it’ll be easy. Just find someone like you.”
The statement catches the young woman off guard. Her cheeks flush red. “Yes, ma’am.”
I close the door and sit on the floor of my new office, without a single, fucking clue as to what I’m doing.
Fake it ‘til you make it, Baby.
CHAPTER SIX
Lucky
One uniform officer stalks the small space in front of the door, while the other paces the length of my adjustable bed.
“You can ask me a hundred different ways. I can’t remember.”
“You don’t know where you were headed? Or where you coming from? No recollection of the accident at all?”
I swallow before shaking my head and anger fills my chest. Every time I try to recall something specific, it’s like I lose five more details.
The man asking the questions scribbles in his pocket-sized notepad. “Well, there wasn’t a cell phone or wallet recovered at the scene. Not one unaccounted for anyway.”
“The doctor said a person died?” I ask, trying not to sound too proud that I have something to contribute to the conversation.
“That’s right.” He flips the pages to retrieve information. “A white male. Thirty-six years of age. Died on impact.”
“Do you know who he was?”
The officer shakes his messy bowl cut. “We do, however, the family has yet to be notified. Gotta keep that under wraps for now.”
I grind my jaw, scratching at the scruff on my chin. “How the fuck did I make it out alive on a bike?”
“That’s a good question. From what we’ve been able to piece together through forensics and witnesses, you jerked toward the right. The man must have let off the accelerator just briefly, causing the Range Rover to clip your back fender. The maneuver acted as a sling shot, propelling you out of the fatal impact. If you hadn’t have made that move, there’s no doubt in my mind, you would have been sandwiched between the Rover and the cement wall. You’re quite fortunate.”
I struggle for air. My brain is spinning as I try to grasp onto a detail. Any detail.
Nothing. It’s just blank.
I may not remember what happened, but it doesn’t keep me from envisioning the worst-case scenario. My bike pinned, leaving my broken and mangled body lifeless. How would they notify my family? Do I have family? What would they think if I had died? What are they thinking right now? I must be missing. Someone must know something.
“Mr. Doe?” The officer cocks his head to a ninety-degree angle. “You good? Remember something?”
“No. Nothing.”
He slaps closed his notepad. “Be sure to let us know as soon as the floodgates open. Any light we can shed on this, the better.” He plucks a card from his shirt pocket and rests it on the food tray.
“Yeah, thanks.” I shake his hand and tip my head toward the second officer as they exit.
I shove the tray across the bed. The more I try to figure shit out, the worse it gets, which only pisses me off more. Just when I get myself calmed down, the door swings open. In bounds a nurse entirely too peppy for my taste.
“Hey, how you doing this afternoon?” She flutters around the room like a butterfly on crack, opening blinds and fussing over my blanket.
“I could be doing better.” I mumble under my breath, apparently not as low as I thought.
“I think I can help with that.” She surveys the monitors.
“I don’t want any more drugs.”
She flicks her wrist, swatting me on the shoulder. “Not meds, silly. You have a visitor.’
I snap my head in her direction. My eyes round and I feel my heart skip a beat in anticipation. “Really? Someone is here? They know who I am? Where is he?”
“Well,” she starts as she makes me lean forward so she can fluff my pillow. “It’s a woman. A pretty one, at that. Should I send her in?”
I crease my forehead and the middle bunches between my brow. What kind of fucking question is that? “Of course.”
She winks and disappears, but only for a moment before returning. She looks like the Tooth Fairy ready to give me a quarter and a pack of Trident.
“Mr…”
I give my head a firm shake. “Please don’t pull that Mr. Doe shit.”
“Actually, I was about to say, Mr. Gauthier, you have a visitor.” She moves to the side.
“Gauthier?”
A woman steps out in the open. “That’s right. James Gauthier.” She rushes forward, flinging her arms around my neck. “Oh my God! I was so worried about you! I’m so thankful you are ok!”
Her scent is overpowering, and it stings my sinuses and throat. I recoil, pressing myself further into my pillow. She must notice the caution dripping off my face.
“Oh, I know you must be so confused, you poor thing. We’ve got to get you out of here and back home, where you can heal properly.”
“Home?” I observe the woman. I try to recall a memory, anything, but nothing comes to mind. She seems kind, even concerned. Hell, she found me, so she must have been looking. She must care.
“Yes, home. Once we get you all settled in, maybe some things will come back to you, but don’t you worry. I’ll be with you every step of the way.” She casually rests her hand on my arm, making the gesture seem intimate.
“Yeah, that’s great. But, I’m sorry, who are you?”
She gasps and her hand flies to her mouth. “I feel like a total idiot. What was I thinking? I guess I had hoped it would spark something when you saw me.” She pulls her lips into a full smile. “I’m Carrie. Carrie Scott. Your fiancé.”
*
The woman jabbered on non-stop the entire ride home.
Home.
Relieved to be out of the vehicle, I wander through the large house. Large is an understatement. The place is a mini mansion. If there hadn’t been pictures of me on the walls and shelves, I would never have believed I lived in a place this nice and fancy.
I don’t feel fancy.
I roll my eyes at the ridiculous notion.
What the fuck does fancy feel like?
A house this size, you’d expect there to be more people. “So, it’s just you and me living here?” I holler out, making my way to the kitchen.
“Actually, love, I have my own place.”
I arch a strong brow and twist my lips. “Really? Why?”
She gives that pearly grin. “We agreed to keep it that way until after the wedding. Are you still ok with that? I can move in if you’d like.”
Panic wells up in my chest. “No, I, um…” What the fuck is wrong with me? “I don’t want to change anything right now. I’d rather leave everything like it is. Maybe it’ll help with the memory loss.”
&n
bsp; Carrie nods, but slowly as she eyes me. “Ok, sure. Yeah, you’re mother lives here. Also, a full staff. Your father passed away not long ago.”
Dropping my chin, I shuffle my feet. “Damn.” I don’t recall his face. His name. His habits. Mannerisms. Shame floods my core when I can’t even manage to feel sad that he’s gone.
“Yeah, it was rough on all of us. Especially Tilly, of course.”
“Tilly?”
She holds a bottle of wine in the air, prompting me to give my head a firm jerk.
“If you change your mind, let me know. I’ll keep it chilled. We really do need to celebrate. This is like a fresh start. Just the two of us. Oh, and Tilly’s your mother’s name.”
I shake off the comment instead of asking why we would need a do-over. I leave that little nugget for later. “So, where is she?”
“Tilly needed some time. There’s a lot going on, and with your father’s passing, she just needed to get away for a while.”
Makes sense, I guess. “And the staff?”
She glances around, as if someone might jump out from the pantry, wielding an apron and weed eater. “They’re around.” Picking up a handful of grapes, she pops one in her mouth. “As a matter of fact, Joyce, the estate manager is with your mother. They’re the best of friends.” She crosses the room, pushing through the swinging door, and leaving me in the dust. “But don’t you worry yourself about it. There are more than enough people on staff to handle the day to day business.”
I follow as her trailing voice.
“And I can sleep over. You know, to help if need be.” She spins on her highfaluting heels. “More importantly, there are some work things that need to be handled. We need you back at the office, but until then you can work from home. I can take care of things on site and I can even bring you everything you’ll need. What do you think?” She pauses before pulling her hard lips into a slight grin. “It might help with amnesia. To get back to your old life.”
Does she ever shut the fuck up?
“Yeah, maybe.” I take another gander at the massive room. “So, what do I do, anyway?”
“Oh, sweetheart,” she says as she steps in, closing the gap between us. “You’re the President and CEO of a multi-billion-dollar marine transport operation.”
Queen of NOLA : Jaded Series, Book Three Page 3
