Page 53 of Unruly

Those who could afford high-class, A-list drug dealers, those who could not afford a scandal in their lives, and those who simply wanted something of a higher caliber called them.

“I’ll figure this out,” Catherine told her, “and get back to you on it.”

“I’m not the first.” Meeka shrugged, and crossed her legs. “There’s a couple of girls whose handlers mentioned clients dropping off the radar. Or simply stating they had something better to work with.”

Catherine stiffened. “Like another dealer?”

“It happens.”

Yes, but Catrina should have let her know if they were dealing with a competitor.

Catherine added yet another issue to handle onto her list.

“Any mention of who the competition might be?” she asked.

Meeka shook her head, and flicked a dark brown curl over her shoulder. “Nope, but get ahold of the right clients. Give them something worth making them talk, and you might find out.”

Yes, more shit on her list to do.

Catherine never got a break.

“Did you have any questions about what’s going on from here on out, or whatever?”

“I’m good,” Meeka said. “Tell the regina I said hi, okay?”

“Will do.”

Once Meeka was gone from the hotel room, Catherine stood. She found Miguel and Cece in the kitchenette of the very expensive suite. Cece sat on the counter eating a Popsicle and bobbing and shaking along to the music Miguel was letting blast through his phone.

The massive, barrel-chested Latino danced along with her little girl like he was having the time of his life.

He probably was, knowing him.

“Did you know my mother was dealing with a competitor?” Catherine asked.

Miguel handed his phone over to Cece before turning to face her. “No, why?”

“Because she is. Someone has been stealing clients, it seems.”

“That’s an issue that needs handling, Catherine. The longer you allow it to go on, the more clients we lose, and possibly girls, too.”

No shit.

“Which issue do I deal with first, then?”

“Pardon?”

Catherine started ticking things off her growing list. “Lack of cocaine. No supplier. Catrina is MIA. My husband hasn’t gotten any time with my daughter in a week, never mind me. And now, some fucking idiot is stealing my business. Which do I deal with first?”

Miguel frowned. “I would say that you should ask your mother, but …”

“Yeah, exactly.”

“Look at this,” Catherine said in a hiss, pushing the tablet over to Cross. Sitting side by side at the restaurant table, the two scrolled down a list of names. Many, Cross recognized as either celebrities, or sports stars. A few, he didn’t. It was likely they were simply some rich fuck somewhere, or a politician he didn’t care to know. “Twelve, Cross. Twelve.”

“Clients?”

“Yes!”