Page 82 of Sexy

She sighs, letting out a long stream of frustration into air that is so damp from humidity, it probably clings to her breath. “He really is sorry.”

“For what?” I ask, finally looking up again. “What exactly is he sorry for?”

The woman gives me a little gesture with her hands. Something akin to, I’m not sure.

That makes two of us.

“If you have any questions, you can call me.” Those are her final words. She turns and walks off.

I stare at the case, then turn around in my seat and watch her retreat. The man in charge here is waiting a little ways off, his hands clasped together behind his back, like he’s standing guard.

I look back at the case, pick it up by the handle, and then stand. I peer over into the deep hole that holds the only father I ever knew and feel the sting of sadness as a final tear streaks its way down my cheek. “Goodbye, Dad.” My chin trembles. “I just want you to know, I love you. And I don’t care about the money. If you feel I don’t deserve anything, then there’s a reason for that. I’ll be OK.”

And that’s it. That’s all there is to say about it. He made his decision and I’m going to live with it.

I walk off, the heels of my shoes sticking into the soil underneath the deep grass with each step. I get my car, place the black case on the passenger seat beside me, and then start it up and drive away.

Chapter Thirty-One

At home, in my Preston Resorts-owned condo in Pacific Heights—how soon will they take this away, I wonder for a brief second—I lie in my bed. The AC is on, and the small one-bedroom condo I’ve called home for the past two years has allowed me the luxury of hiding under the covers, pretending reality is a dream and the dream is reality.

The phone rings, but I ignore it. It’s been ringing all day. There are at least ten messages on there.

The machine picks up and Cole’s voice meanders into my bedroom. “Tiffy, we need to talk. I know you’re upset about—”

He has no idea what I’m upset about. I barely know what I’m upset about. It’s more than the death. It’s everything that happened last week end all rolled up into one giant WTF.

“—but I have investors interested in the Landslide. I hadn’t had time to talk about the financial situation—”

“No,” I say bitterly, “you were too busy using it as your fuck palace to have a frank conversation with me about the hotel.”

“—they made a decent offer. So if you need the capital to…” He hesitates here, maybe choosing his words carefully. “… to clear up some financial obligations…”

Wow. That was tactful.

“… I can arrange for the sale. Just let me know.”

The message ends. The machine beeps. And then the apartment goes silent with nothing but the sound of the air-conditioning coming out of the vents.

I go back to sleep.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxo

When I wake the light streaming through the sheer white curtains of my bedroom tells me it’s late afternoon. But I don’t turn to see the time. The phone is ringing again. I listen to a strange voice claiming she is from the probate lawyers telling me that we have a meeting tomorrow.

I won’t be going, so I turn over and fall back asleep.

The next time the phone rings, the sunlight has that new-day brightness to it. This time it’s Claudio.

My eyes close and I pine for my mom.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxo

“Tiffy?”

Claudio has found his way into my apartment. I open my eyes and wait for him to find me.

“Tiffy,” he says, walking through my bedroom door. “Oh my God. Jesus Christ, girlfriend. I thought you were dead. Some dramatic suicide—”