Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
“The term is old money, I believe.”
She’s done playing brave. Her soft eyes fill with tears, which gives her the innocent, doe-eyed expression that has very likely served her well in life. I said she was pretty, but it’s beyond that. She’s stunning, actually.
I might want to laugh this whole thing off, including the slow-burn anger and injustice that’s pummeling my guts like bad street meat, but I find myself without enough breath to do so.
Amalphia steps into my space. I hold my ground because that’s what you do in a battle of wills, but she’s close enough that I can smell her unique scent. Something calming. Green tea. “I just want what’s mine.” There’s a pleading note in her voice now. “My money, my granny’s money, my parents’ money,” Her hands ball into fists. “And for you to get Reginald out of whatever trouble he’s in by paying off those thugs however much he owes.”
I’m silent for far too long. The minutes are ticking away, and I’m going to be more than fashionably late for this meeting.
“Be a good human being,” she implores.
That’s too much. The straw that breaks my poor old clichéd camel’s back. I know for a fact that I’ve done my fair share of shutting up, taking it, and still trying not to lose hope and be kind. I took Reginald’s mother as a one-off and have never let the rest of the world shoulder the weight of her betrayal. Even after getting burned, I’ve tried to give everyone the benefit of the doubt.
“You have no idea who I am or what I’ve done with my life,” I seethe, anything but bored, distant, and impartial.
She looks way up at me because we’re standing far too close, and I’m so much taller than she is. She’s not going to apologize. “You might not care if I become a mushy goo pile of destroyed bones this and non-functioning that, but you have to care about—”
“This conversation is becoming cyclical, and I have a meeting to get to, so…”
She’s incredulous. She can’t believe her little sappy song and dance act of horror and woe is this and broken bones that isn’t going to work.
I’m going to have to clarify, even if it makes me a total douchecanoe. I do still get a shiver of repulsion at the unfairness of getting thought of that way when I’ve done nothing to earn it.
“Did you think you could just come in here with this wild story and that I’d stroke you a check? This isn’t my first rodeo, and now that I’ve cut Reg and Candice off, they’re feeling it. I have no doubt you spent a good amount of time concocting this story. You’re even a half-convincing actress. Congrats on being vastly more entertaining than any of the drudgery I’ve watched anywhere in the past few months. I’m sorry, but the answer is no.”
“What? Reg and—no! We’re not even dating anymore. This is a very clear breakup. It should have happened a long time ago. Way before he ever had the chance to do this.” She bites down on her bottom lip, which sends an unexpected shower of sparks through me.
What is wrong with me that my junk is taking over my brain and shouting at me to be a hero and fight the bad guys for this woman?
“I have proof! I can show you my bank account!”
She fumbles in her pumpkin bag for something, probably her phone, but the zipper jams. She curses under her breath and tugs harder.
“You have an account that money appears to have been moved out of? It’s easy enough to give Reginald the password so he could move the money out and make it look legit.”
Her head snaps up. She’s all fire and brimstone now, still half in disbelief but shooting flames like a souped-up tractor. What? I was doomscrolling shorts last night. I saw things. Honestly, it’s absolutely stupefying how beautiful she looks when she’s righteously angry.
“They’re going to break. My. Freaking. Bones. And. Feed. Me. To. The. Fishes. I’m not talking about my mom’s sweet old goldfish either. Serious fish. This isn’t a joke! It’s not a freaking drill. I’m not in on this with Reg.”
“Then go to the police. Give them your non-existent proof and ask them for help. If they deem your story has merit, they’ll protect you.”
Calling security to remove her is distasteful, and I feel like a total cheeseball Chad when I circle my desk, pick up the receiver, and punch in 929, our internal code.
“Gerald here,” he answers within a fraction of a second.
“Would you be so kind as to escort Amalphia…” I don’t know her last name, and there’s an awkward pause before I continue, “…Miss Amalphia back down to the lobby, please?”
“Sure, boss. Can I come in?”