Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 148949 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 745(@200wpm)___ 596(@250wpm)___ 496(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148949 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 745(@200wpm)___ 596(@250wpm)___ 496(@300wpm)
I pursed my lips together.
“Her taking Olga’s life has now drawn a line in the sand.”
I raised my brows. “What do you mean, mysh?”
“She has to go. I don’t care if I have to spend the rest of my life figuring it out, but we cannot do this anymore. That bitch needs to die.”
For some reason, the words frightened me.
But, why am I scared?
Emily left my hold and shook her head. “If we let Lunita live inside of me, then she—I—will only cause more chaos and pain.”
My voice grew unsteady. “What do you want me to do?”
She backed up some more and hugged herself. “We have to put some rules in place.”
“What rules?”
“When I sleep, I need to be locked away.”
I stiffened. “You mean we need to be locked away.”
“I don’t want her to hurt you, Kaz.”
“Lunita would not harm me.”
“Why do you believe that?”
“I asked her as much.”
“I don’t trust that bitch.”
I blinked.
“Regardless, we’ll figure more out later.” Sighing, she headed away. “For now, I have to check on the kids and then call this woman in New Orleans. Could you get everyone together?”
“Everyone?”
“Max, Misha, David, Giorgio, Blue. We should even call in Jean-Pierre and whoever else.” She opened the door, stopped, and looked at me. “We need to meet and plan Operation: New Orleans.”
“Operation what? Excuse me?”
“Operation: New Orleans. We go. We fix me. This ends with Olga.” She headed away.
Chapter 13
The Art of Diapers
Emily
Jazz filled the lemon-scented air.
“Naw.” Max shook his head and pressed on his phone, switching to a new song. “Maybe, we should do some Duke Ellington. What do you think, nephew?”
From the changing table, Emilio curiously gazed up at his uncle and wriggled those little legs.
Another song filled the air. This one had lots of saxophone.
“Nope.” Max pressed on his phone and zipped to another song.
I got ready to get up. “Max, I could have already changed the diaper and—”
“Would you sit your ass down?”
Sighing, I lowered back into the rocking chair. Giorgio had grabbed the chair from Emilio’s nursery room and placed it in our bedroom, close to Lemonisha, who was the main reason a sweet lemony perfume saturated the space.
The Butler had also helped me pick my outfit for this afternoon’s meeting.
Granted, I never asked him to do it.
Giorgio simply walked into the closet with me and perused all my garments.
After a few minutes, he grabbed some items, lay them on the small velvet chair near the entrance, nodded, and left me there.
And, I had to admit that Giorgio didn’t do a bad job, picking items for me.
The clothes had to allow me to breastfeed and feel comfortable dealing with this difficult topic in the meeting.
Therefore, Giorgio settled on a black nursing tank top. It allowed easy access for nursing while still providing coverage of my breasts.
Then, he paired the top with black skinny jeans to allow for ease of movement.
He also placed a gray jacket with the items.
I put it on and thought the jacket gave the outfit a smidgen of formal.
Next were flat ankle boots to provide support and stability while still looking chic.
But, the most interesting part of the ensemble was that he included black leather gloves.
As I stood in the closet by myself, I wondered if Giorgio put the gloves with my outfit, just because he was used to wearing them himself.
Or did he think that I should hide my bandaged hands to not raise questions at the meeting?
Either way, I put the gloves on, and felt good that he had included them.
After dressing, I fed Emilio in the rocking chair while Paolo lay next to me with his sippy cup full of milk.
Harlem slept by my feet.
Max awkwardly looked away as I fed Emilio. First, he thought it was the respectable thing to do. Second, he always talked about how he didn’t want to get sprayed with milk and how he heard that could happen.
Regardless, once I was done, it was time to change Emilio’s diaper and head to the conference room.
However, Max was adamant about changing the diaper himself.
Paolo stood on the bed to get a view of Max and Emilio. Harlem—who knew he wasn’t supposed to be on the bed—jumped around Paolo’s feet, attacked his shoelaces, and wrestled with them.
Paolo would be asking about Olga soon, and I had no idea what I would say.
Are we going to get a new nanny?
I wasn’t ready to ask Kaz yet. He didn’t look like he was dealing well with Olga’s death, just like I wasn’t.
Max switched to another song. “Naw. Armstrong’s trumpet playing might be a bit too loud for your sensitive ears.”
He went to the next song. “Hell no. You’re not ready for Miles yet, nephew.”
Oh my God.
Max swiped through his phone. “I thought I had some Charlie Parker on this playlist.”
I checked my watch. “I should have done it myself. By the time you change this diaper, Emilio will be ready for college.”