Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63195 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63195 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
“He said he wants to fix it,” I answer as I watch Maddie sip from the glass without picking it up. Instead she crouches down, bringing her lips to the rim to sip. My lips tug into an asymmetrical smile for just a moment at the sight.
“It’s not what he says.” The hardness in her voice is absent, but there’s still a finality in Sue’s statement. “It would be hard for him to change, wouldn’t it? He’s been this way for years.”
It’s meant to be a rhetorical question, but the answer rings clear in my head. He did something bad. Something that he needed an alibi for. That’s enough of a reason to change everything at once.
I stare at the dark red liquid. Sue’s voice turns to white noise as she tells a story about something that makes the other girls laugh and I laugh too, when they do. I don’t know if it’s the first time he’s needed an alibi. Or the second or the third. But it’s the first time he changed. I knew something was off before the article. Before he told me anything. Before the lies.
I knew something was different.
And I didn’t even bother to ask him what he’d done.
Evan
There’s a slow prick of irritation crawling down my spine as I sit in the chair across from James. Every limb feels the need to move, like a spider is climbing its way down my back. My fingers dig into the hard wood of the armrests as I stay perfectly still, staring down my former boss. Former friend. Now enemy.
“You aren’t the best at listening,” he says from across the room as he closes a drawer. The city lights creep in through the window behind him, casting shadows over the large desk.
“I don’t follow orders,” I grit out from between clenched teeth. My words come out menacing, but I don’t mean for them to. One more meeting, and this is over. I’m done with him. He’s yet to get that message or to tell me what the hell is going on.
James leans forward, clasping his hands together and his perfectly tailored suit wrinkles beneath his arms, making the fabric look cheap. He’s always looked just a bit cheap. Regardless of the brand or how expensive his tastes are. Some assholes will always look like a knockoff.
He taps his fingers on the desk, but my eyes don’t leave his. “The reason I called you in here is simple, Evan. The new client we have likes to live on the reckless side, and I’m concerned about drug abuse.”
A gruff exhale leaves me from deep down in my chest. “I quit.” I ignore the fact that he’s hinting around what happened with Tony. My skin tingles and that feeling of a spider crawling on me comes back. I can’t help but think he’s recording this conversation. Everything in my gut has been telling me there’s a setup and that I’m going to take the fall for what happened.
It was my fault, so I should be taking the blame regardless. On my terms, not this prick’s and he’s responsible for the way it went down. Some of the blame rests on his shoulders.
“I know what you said, but I assumed you’d come to your senses,” he says, waving off my curt response. “Like I said, the new client has been known to behave a bit recklessly and I just want to make sure the policy we had in place remains the same.”
The policy. I smirk at him, my grip on the arms getting tighter although my fingers are all that move.
The policy where the clients get what they want, but we don’t say it out loud to anyone. The one where we’re given clean stashes of the best drugs in the rec rooms. That’s the policy. Instead of clarifying the policy, I answer, “After what happened with Tony I would think it’s more than clear that we should advise our clients against anything too reckless.”
James’s eyes narrow. He knows I know that he’s recording this. I’m not a fool. The only question I have is why. Why record it? More blackmail? Or evidence? What’s he after?
I stare him in the eyes as I ask, “What is it you really want? You know you’ve provided drugs to clients before.” I cock my head to the side as I ask, “Are we changing the policy?”
“I’ve never given anyone anything illegal,” he states and I notice how he stiffens slightly but still tries to act casual as he shrugs and adds, “There’s no change to the policy.”
My wife has this thing she does. It’s a smile I hate. A smirk really. I hate it when she gives it to me. It’s one that tells me she knows I’m full of shit. While I sit here, staring at this asshole, I can feel the corner of my lips tug up into that sarcastic smirk. It doesn’t stay there for long, though.