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Surprise flashed in her eyes but only for a moment. “It should be me, but it’ll be Brendan. If Daddy ever steps down.”
“Haven’t you heard?” Sadie did her best impression of a sympathetic woman, leaning against the front of her desk with one hand to her chest.
“Your brother was in that crack house that exploded.” She sat back and waited for tears or anger, some kind of reaction.
None ever came. “He’s not dead,” Savannah said with certainty.
My gaze slid to Virgil’s, reminding him of the conversation we had not that long ago.
“If he were, Daddy would have burned this place to the ground. Sorry to disappoint,” Savannah said with a smirk that said she wasn’t sorry at all.
Sadie pushed off the desk and towered over Savannah. “Then you better hope the medical examiner identifies his body before I get sick of having another mouth to feed.”
She nodded to Lance, who quickly stepped forward, removing the cuffs from the stool and back to her wrists, standing her up and marching Savannah out of the room.
“She makes an excellent point,” Ma said.
“Then it might have been Brendan I saw before the Feds butted in.” I didn’t have to say it, but it needed to be said.
Jasper nodded reluctantly, the only acknowledgment he was wrong. It was fine. For now.
“We need to find out. Right away.” He pulled out his phone. “Emmett? Jasper. Listen, I need you to scour the city for Brendan Rhymer. Yeah, I know but facts have changed. From the top to the underworld, got me? Good.”
“What now?” Kat ambled in her signature slinky stroll to the bar, pouring whiskey for everyone. “Do we just wait?”
“Fuck no,” Jasper growled. “Ma, tell Lance to keep her alive until we have confirmation on Brendan. Calvin, keep Bonnie close and dig as deep as you can into any properties owned by any of the Rhymers or related companies. Let’s see where he’s got to hide if he is alive.” He nodded, deep in his element. “Kat, keep an eye on those rooms. I want to know who and when as soon as you know. Virgil, do what you’ve been doing.”
Everyone had their orders and no one dared question them.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Bonnie
“Ms. Byrne your resume is just what we’re looking for, both in terms of experience and salary range.” Sally Conyers gave a feminine laugh over the phone and I sat up tall, heart pounding in my chest at the prospect of a job. A real job, here in Glitz. “But we are an organization that relies heavily on charity and in this business, reputation is everything and yours is, well what it is currently.”
And just like that, all hope fled. “Of course. I understand. But you do realize I’ve been officially cleared?”
It didn’t matter. A lesson I’d been forced to learn over and over again. The arrest might as well have been a conviction as far as the outside world was concerned.
“Yes, I understand that, but we, well…we really don’t need the drama. You know with the press and reporters. I hope you understand.”
I could hear the sympathy in her voice, but I didn’t need sympathy. I needed a job. “Thank you for letting me know.”
“It’s our loss, I know,” she said brightly and ended the call.
It just so happened that this moment presented me with the perfect excuse to dull the sting of rejection. It wasn’t much because my funds were dangerously low and so was my emergency supply.
Feeling at least a little human, I threw my phone on the bed, slipped into a bathing suit and slathered on some sunscreen. Then I skirted around the main walk outside to a small wading pool with a waterfall behind some greenery that was just out of view of most parts of Ashby Manor. I wasn’t being ungrateful; I just needed some time to myself.
My privacy lasted a total of twenty-three minutes before the click-clack of killer heels sounded on the paved apron around the pool just a few feet away.
“Hey Bon!”
I jumped up from the lounge chair and ran to the lawn. “Maze!”
She flashed a wide, genuine smile. “How’s it going? I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever,” she said, probably the only person who was happy to see me.
I returned her hug and shrugged my shoulders. “Another job rejection, but that’s nothing new. How’s the job treating you?”
She wagged her head and slipped off black stilettos with a sharp gold heel that was to die for, at least it would have been if I was in a place to care about shoes. Or clothes. Or life in general.
“Good,” she said. “The clients are demanding, but they tip well when they’re satisfied and I make sure they always are.”
“Sounds kind of, I don’t know, mercenary.”
Maisie frowned. “Does it? Well my job is to keep them happy so they keep gambling, and that’s what I do. I won’t apologize for being good at it.”
