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“My apologies, Rylee, just some work stuff. I’ll excuse myself once I’ve introduced you to the fellas.”
When he opened the door to his penthouse, the sounds of laughter drifted from the living room. This week was supposed to be fun for Memphis too, but an FBI raid had fucked that up.
“Evan, Bryce, Andrew, Brandon, get your asses in here and meet Rylee,” he shouted as he shut the door.
The group of well-dressed men ambled into the foyer and took turns shaking hands and introducing themselves to Rylee.
She looked them all in the eye and offered firm handshakes.
“Is the table ready?” she asked.
Memphis nodded. “Hotel staff set it up this morning. Just hit pound-six on the phone if they didn’t follow your instructions. Excuse me, I need to return a phone call.”
He stepped into his bedroom and shut the door.
“What’s going on, Jeremy?” he asked when his lawyer answered.
“The prosecutor has convinced a judge that you’re a flight risk because of the flight you booked to Canada. He wants to revoke your bail.”
“I wasn’t even on that god damn flight. I sent my jet to pick up some friends.”
“I understand that. It doesn’t change things. But there is a solution. It means going back to Arizona, though.”
He dragged a hand through his hair. “What do you mean?”
“House arrest until the trial.”
“Jesus Christ. I have business in Vegas and I’m not missing Andrew’s wedding.”
“If that’s what you want, you better buy a house there, because that’s the only way I keep you out of jail.”
“House arrest means an ankle monitor. How the fuck do I explain that?”
“You could volunteer to be chipped.”
“All for a crime I didn’t even commit? How is that OK?”
The lawyer sighed. “I’m just offering ideas here, Memphis. I realize you’re innocent, but we have a long way to go to get you out of this mess. If you don’t prefer to spend the next six weeks in a cell, and you don’t want to wear an ankle monitor, you volunteer for the chip and make a big donation to the Nevada State Police Commission.”
“Fuck. OK. Make it happen. I’m going to talk to Hunter about a house.”
He shoved the phone in his pocket and stalked out of his room.
“I’ll be back later,” he snapped when his friends called out for him to join the game.
He rode the elevator down several floors and stepped off. Hunter’s office was nestled at the back of a ballroom that was only rented out for the most exclusive parties and events.
“He in there?” he asked the receptionist sitting outside Hunter’s door. Nadine, Hunter’s assistant, must have stepped out for lunch.
She nodded as she stared at him, and he strode past her desk. It wasn’t until he was opening the door that she jumped into action.
“Do you have an appointment?” she stammered as she leapt from her chair.
“It’s fine, Lucy,” Hunter called.
“The villa for tonight. Who owns it?”
“Technically, I do. It’s complicated. Why?”
