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“Please.” Jimmy reached for Cold’s arm. “I didn’t mean—”
Cold jerked away from Jimmy, snatching him around the neck with his other hand. “Don’t,” he warned as his eyes glittered with anger.
Jimmy’s heart sank. They had come so far, and now he had ruined everything. He curled trembling fingers around Cold’s wrist, saying sincerely, “I’m sorry, Rod.”
Cold’s face softened for a brief moment, as if that last apology was actually heard and meant something to him. “Don’t be late.”
Jimmy didn’t try to hold on when Cold left, getting a departing glimpse of his body as he moved back to the bedroom. He heard the bathroom door slam shut, and he sighed defeatedly.
Well, fuck. That had ended spectacularly well.
Crawling back into bed, Jimmy pulled the covers over his head. He didn’t think sleep would come, but he tossed and turned in search of it. He managed to doze off at some point because he didn’t hear Cold leave.
He opened his eyes when he heard polite knocking at the door. Grumbling, he rolled back over and stuck his head under the pillows. He felt terrible for upsetting Cold, and he wasn’t in the mood for company.
One of the bedroom doors opened despite his refusal to answer, Jerry calling out, “Monsieur? Hello?”
“Jerry?” Jimmy poked his head up. He glanced at his phone, seeing that it was a few minutes after ten. He also saw that Cold had again not left him a card. He didn’t have a text from him either.
Great.
“I am very sorry to bother you.” Jerry stood in the doorway but did not enter. “There’s a bit of a situation down at La Belle, and your presence is needed immediately.”
“Me?”
“Oui,” Jerry confirmed. “It’s Mademoiselle Legrand.” He gestured to the room behind him. “I’ve brought you some of your clothing from your, eh, your residence? The rest later, yes, but we need to go.”
Jimmy sat up quickly, but he didn’t make it very far since he wasn’t wearing any pants. “Is Rowena okay?”
“She’s asking for you.” Jerry smiled, but it was strained. “Please hurry, and we shall go.”
“Right,” Jimmy said, a new streak of worry wrinkling up his gut.
Once Jerry had left him, he got up to find clean clothes. Jerry had only brought him suits to wear, so he chose a dark gray pinstripe to put on with his black Chucks. He hurried to the bathroom to fix himself up and change his bandage, smirking wryly at his reflection when he was ready.
He looked like a little kid playing gangster dress-up.
Pausing to take a selfie, he then texted it to Cold with a short message:
See you tonight?
Jimmy hoped so.
He rushed downstairs to meet Jerry, the chauffeur and chef adding racecar driver to his list of professions as he hauled ass to La Belle at neck-breaking speeds. Jimmy was nauseous as Jerry herded him inside.
Jimmy heard a crash from the upstairs office, and he grimaced as he jogged up the steps to investigate. Upon hearing sobbing and something shattering, he cautiously opened the door. “Uh, Rowena? It’s Jimmy. Please don’t throw anything.”
The office was plush, decorated in the same theme as the rest of the bar with deep red curtains and dark wooden furniture. Rowena sat on the floor by a small liquor cabinet, broken glass all around her. Jimmy had never seen her looking so distraught.
She was crying, her hair disheveled, makeup smeared, and she only had one shoe on. She looked up as Jimmy walked in, cradling an open bottle of tequila in her lap and sobbing. “Oh, Jimmy. The fucking worst thing ever has happened.”
Carefully stepping over the broken glass, Jimmy found a safe place to sit down beside her. “Hey, hey. What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“It’s Dario.”
“Is he all right? Did something happen at the hospital?”
“No, he’s fine.” Rowena groaned. “He’ll probably be released today. Surgeon said he doesn’t need to be cut on, just lots of physical therapy. God, no, this is much worse.”
