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“But he has. What’s the plan, Amber?” I gritted out, knowing this whole setup stunk of preparation. Probably the weeks that led up to her phone call.
The intercom interrupted us again. “Ms. Adler insists she only has twenty minutes.”
I reached over and picked up the phone. “Then make her wait another minute and send her in.”
I slammed the phone down, trying to get a grip on every emotion I had. I was boiling.
“If money is what you want, Amber, I will give it to you. I was hoping to—” I dug my nails into my palms as I tried to find the right words “—to know you again.”
“I want that too,” she said softly. “This is my mess. I can clean it up.”
“No, you can’t, not alone in a city where you know no one and still have addiction running through you. I just want to know right now—”
“Ms. Adler,” my receptionist, Ross, interrupted.
For eighteen minutes, I listened to Amber recall the events that led up to her losing her two-year-old son. Apparently, Lucy Hardin had run her mouth to a grocery store clerk about what a shame it was that “Amber Ellison had the most beautiful baby boy. Too bad his mother was a druggie” while Laz’s mother stood in the checkout line behind her. Child Protective Services was called, and they located Amber smoking a meth foil in her car with Joseph in the back seat. I sat back and watched the remorse intensify on my sister’s face and knew she was telling the truth. Still, a part of me condemned and convicted her for falling victim to meth after all we’d been through at the hands of our addicted parents.
The lawyer instructed her to do exactly as we’d planned: obtain a job and residence. Apparently, there would be several months of counseling, along with random drug tests. And then there was the issue of bringing him out of state. It was a process, but one the lawyer was confident about as long as the rules were followed.
When the door was shut after the lawyer’s farewell, Amber turned to me with a heartfelt smile and a thank you.
Unable to hear anything more about Laz with my mind still reeling, I sent Amber down to HR for job placement, unsure if she would qualify for anything. I was already exhausted, and it was only ten thirty. I would get everything from her later. At that moment, I couldn’t look at her without feeling resentment, and I didn’t want that for our newly kindled relationship.
Laz was a father.
What. The. Fuck.
Sitting at my desk, furiously ru
shing through my workload, I remembered Ray’s words to me the first time he saw my temper.
“Presentation is everything, kitten. You can make your point without having to act out like an animal. If you lash out that way, the reaction will more than likely mirror yours. Nothing gets resolved, and you are left having to explain yourself, and we both know you hate that.”
I sat back in my chair, thinking of Ray and the proposition he’d made me exactly one year after I met him.
“You are a lot thinner than I remember,” Ray remarked, circling me.
“I don’t eat much,” I offered as I stood in the foyer of his expansive house, as if my eating habits would be reason enough to keep me there. I felt filthy even though I had washed off the bus ride before taking the cab to his address. I spent a few minutes just standing at the entrance to his massive mansion before finally coming up with the courage to knock. I had no idea what was about to happen. I felt like there were eyes on me as I stared at the lion’s head doorknocker that seemed to smile as it held the metal ring in its mouth.
“You will eat here,” Ray declared with confidence. “And you will eat well. The body is a temple. Did you know that, Taylor?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, sir,” he scorned as he stopped in front of me. “And you will treat it as such. What makes you think your parents won’t come for you?”
“They won’t. They will never come looking,” I assured him then added, “meth.”
Realization dawned on him as he scrutinized me. “And do I need to worry about your drug use?”
“Never,” I assured adamantly.
“Never, sir,” he corrected again with slight agitation. His eyes lasered their way down my body. “You’re too young.”
I winced. The night we met, Lucy Hardin had painted me up to look a little older. I took in his sharp black suit and perfectly cropped hair while he circled me. His steps were precise, purposeful. I could feel his hesitation.
“I’m an adult.”
“You’re a baby,” he concluded. “Have you ever been fucked, Taylor?” My eyes widened at his sudden change in conversation.
