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Me: Overslept. Late night with a client.
Micah: What the fuck?? Get your ass to my place NOW. You’re the manager, so fucking act like it!
Micah never used exclamation points. Ever.
“Goddamnit!” I slapped my cell back onto my bedside table, and my shaking legs took me into the bathroom where my insides exploded outward.
Fucking hell, anxiety was a fucking cunt. But better rumbling bowels than an ulcer.
I was already a disappointment and going to be the last person showing up at the mansion for our quarterly meeting, so what was a few more minutes? No fucking way would I be able to focus without at least showering.
Shortest time getting ready behind me, I sped westward out of the city toward Micah’s, my stomach only somewhat settled. Dismay weighed heavy on my shoulders, making me feel even worse than what I’d been dealing with since shit had gone down on Wednesday.
Thanks to an accident and having to be rerouted after twenty minutes of being stuck in traffic, I pulled into Micah’s driveway over an hour after he’d woken me up. Only a few employees’ cars remained, and I cursed while climbing from mine.
He was going to hand me my ass in front of people. Good fucking time for me.
Stomach churning again, adrenaline making me tremble, I let myself into the office addition I’d parked in front of. A clandestine peek through the opened door leading into Micah’s house revealed the meeting had definitely ended.
Micah, BetsyAnne, Drake, Zack, and the new guy, Jimmy, still lounged in the living room on my right, unaware of my presence.
Whatever snacks my sister-in-law had set out were gone, mere crumbs on the three plates atop the coffee table.
“Hey, little brother.” Jasmine approached from the kitchen on my left with a sweet smile, offering me a cup of steaming coffee.
Her kindness eased some of my anxiety.
“You’re a lifesaver,” I mumbled, taking note of her pale cheeks. “You okay?”
“Little stomach bug, but no big deal.” She handed over her gift without touching me.
Maybe that was what had plagued me earlier.
“Don’t take his pissiness personally, okay?” she whispered. “He’s on edge, and everyone oversleeps sometimes.”
Forcing a smile, I nodded and headed toward the group of people now eyeing me. “Sorry I’m late,” I said, trying for my usual carefree attitude.
“Sit your ass down,” Micah ordered, his tone hard. He sounded so much like Pop that goose bumps rippled down my spine and suggested my flight instincts get me the hell out of there.
I collapsed onto the couch beside Drake instead since fleeing the scene would only make shit worse for me.
“You can read the meeting notes from BetsyAnne later. What matters right now is this mess with the Zerig guy. I filled everyone in on what happened since this could affect all of us. While I have the money he’s asking for, I refuse to bow to extortion.”
“Think we can we prove the images are fakes?” I asked.
“After he releases them to the press and brings attention we don’t need?” Micah asked, his blue eyes glinting.
“We should cut his legs off before he takes another step,” Drake stated, crossing his arms, legs spread as always when on a couch. The dude was a beast.
“We’re not going to do anything illegal—no violence,” my brother declared, matter of fact.
Drake huffed a snort. “Not literal legs. We need to find something or some way to bribe him out of going to the press or threaten to extort him in return if he continues with his plan.”
“What do we have on him?” BetsyAnne asked.
“Only the information in his file,” I said, having looked over the guy’s paperwork a half dozen times since Wednesday.
“What about your friend Reid Sullivan?” Jasmine asked Micah. “Isn’t his uncle a detective or something? Some bigwig in the Boston PD?”
