by Storm, Sloan
"Stay away from her!" Mom ran up to Griff, wagging a finger. "Get out of here!"
He ignored her, giving me one last plea. "Sneaks, come on."
Mom bumped Griff aside and swallowed me with her arms, pulling me close, too close, smothering me with concern.
"You can't hurt her now." Mom hugged me tight. "She's safe. You were lying all along. You never cared about her! All you care about is money, power. You don't deserve to be a part of this child's life. Now, go! I'll call the police!"
While she rambled, I wrestled with my feelings. I appreciated her standing up for me, but on the other hand, this didn't involve her. To my surprise, Griff didn't engage, taking a couple of steps backward.
"Don't give up on us, Sneaks."
"Shut up!" Mom snarled. "Yeah, that's right. Back away like the lying coward you are."
"Mom." I broke free of her. "That's enough."
Did I want to feel safe? Yes. But not with her. With him. I watched Griff while he walked past Carl without a word.
Was that even possible?
35
Ray Of Hope (Griff)
The day I dreaded arrived.
I stood at the window of my office. Not a cloud in sight. Strange for a late November day.
From my perch, I saw Mount Hood rise in the distance, a fresh coating of snow cloaked the ancient peak. It stood there, timeless and unchanging. Growing up, that's how I thought about my family's history. Now going on one hundred fifty years strong, we'd fought long and hard to turn it into the empire it was today. Blood, sweat, and tears rolled up into a powerful dynasty, one of the great success stories of the Pacific Northwest.
I'd fought like hell to avoid its demise, but a couple of stupid decisions and some bad luck were enough to torpedo me.
The truth is, I'd failed.
Now, it was only a matter of time before my family's fortune and legacy would disappear forever.
It had only been a couple of days since Papa died, and the trustee for the estate didn't waste any time. They'd already called me twice since I got back to Portland. I wasn't in a hurry to head downtown and sign the paperwork. The only thing they cared about were their fees. They'd get them soon enough.
While I could delay for a few days, like it or not, there wasn't a damn thing I could do about the situation.
That's the way Papa wanted it.
Shifting my gaze, I took in the cityscape, burning it into my memory one last time. In a matter of hours, the view wouldn't be mine anymore.
Life is fucking crazy.
How's it possible to get some of the worst news of your life and the best on the same goddamn day?
First Papa died, and then, well, I learned I'd be a father soon.
Maybe I was nuts, but somewhere inside, I still felt like I had a chance with her, especially considering the news about the baby.
Once all the legal wrangling with the estate was behind me, I'd be free to focus on what I cared about the most - winning Sneaks back. For that to happen, I needed a lead, anything, that might steer me to Tabitha and the truth about what happened.
Turning away from the window, I walked toward my desk to make the call.
It killed me to leave her behind. Man, that whole scene was really bad. Not only did Sneaks not believe a word coming out of my mouth, but that whole shit show with her mom only made things worse. The hell of it is that once I proved the whole thing was a scam, I knew she'd come around, too.
Sliding into my chair, I picked up the phone and called the senior partner, Grant Turloin.
"Mr. Foster, thank you for getting back to me."
"Grant." I knew he was just doing his job, but it took every ounce of restraint I had to keep my cool. So, this is how it ends?
The plan, as I'd understood it, was for me to sign the paperwork, and life as I knew it would never be the same. It would probably take thirty minutes, tops. I'd expected him to touch on the highlights of what we'd be doing when I got there, but that's not how we started the conversation.
Not even close.
"Mr. Foster. There's been a development with the trust. It's a time sensitive matter. Not to put too fine a point on it, but your presence here is needed most urgently. How soon can you get here?"
Drumming my fingers on the desk, I exhaled a response. "I could be there in twenty."
"Very good. I'll be expecting you."
I hung up the phone with a deliberate click. That was fucking weird. Whatever it was, I didn't care anymore. After standing from my chair, I straightened my suit and tie, leaving my office for what would probably be one of the last times.
After arriving, I was ushered straight into Grant's office, more ready than ever to put an end to this. Grant stood and walked toward me, extending his hand.
"Very sorry about Papa. He'll be missed."
I thanked him, and Grant tried to make a bit of small talk, even asking me if I wanted some coffee.
"Can we just get this over with? I'd prefer to sign the paperwork and get out of here. Nothing personal."
Grant seemed a bit taken aback by my impatience. A deep frown creased his brow. "My apologies, Mr. Foster. I should've mentioned on the call…"
"Yeah? Should've mentioned what?"
While I spoke, Grant circled around his desk and grabbed a piece of paper, offering it to me. I took it while he continued.
"The reason I've asked you to the office today has nothing to do with the transfer of funds to the charity. The document you have explains everything."
I wasn't in the mood to play guessing games or try and decipher cryptic legalese.
"All right, well, if I'm not here to sign over the assets, then what the hell am I doing here?"
Grant kept going. "Before Papa passed, he requested we make an amendment to the marriage clause."
Amendment? I took another look at the document. "What do you mean?"
Grant went on to explain that instead of an immediate transfer, Papa decided to give me one final opportunity to keep up my end of the bargain. The only difference was this time, I wouldn't be able to marry just anyone. It had to be Sneaks, and I only had one week from the time of his death to get her to agree. Since he died a couple of days earlier, I now had just five.
Great.
Grant didn't bother getting into the weeds with me, asking a bunch of questions about it. Whether I signed over the money to the charity or convinced Sneaks to change her mind, the firm would still get its fees.
I stood there shaking my head.
No chance in hell a week would be enough time to pull this off. Impossible was more like it. For a brief second, I considered telling Grant to forget about it. I'd sign everything over and just be fucking done with it.
But then, I thought about it. For whatever reason, Papa decided to give me one last shot. Hmm.
"Mr. Foster? What's your decision?"
Passing the document to him, I straightened my spine and gave him my answer.
"I guess I'll see you in five days."
After thanking him, I left the office clinging to a final shred of hope when I felt my phone vibrate. I pulled it out and swiped it on, reading the message from Trav.
got some info bro. her insta handle… tabby cat purrzz. will b by later 2nyt!
36
Dm For Info (Griff)
In the limo ride back to my place, I stalked her Instagram profile like it was my fucking job.
By the time I'd arrived home, I'd probably scrolled through the whole thing three or four times. Believe me, that's saying something. It took forever.
The bitch snapped more pictures than a crime scene investigator.
In spite of that, she hadn't posted since just before Vegas. Her feed had gone dark. It was pretty obvious she was keeping a low profile, not wanting anyone to know where she was.
However, that didn't mean I was about to give up.
Her profile was pretty much what you'd expect. Like I mentioned, lots of pictures of her. Her in clubs, her wearing bikinis
on exotic beaches, and endless photos of her face turned to the right, camera positioned overhead.
Obviously her favorite pose.
After getting off the elevator, I walked into the living room and grabbed a seat on my couch. Trav and Gunnar would be here soon. I swiped my phone on again and the feed refreshed itself when something new appeared at the top of her profile.
Hang on. What the fuck is this?
Whether it was there before or not, I couldn't remember. It didn't really matter. She had an email address listed where she can be contacted for 'modeling' which I guessed was code for prostitution.
With nothing to lose, I quickly set up a fake email account and gave it a shot, sending her an email to see if she was available.
"Hey, I'm looking for a party tonight. I'll pay top dollar. Message me back. G."
It was a shot in the dark, but what the hell.
I tossed my phone aside, closed my eyes, and leaned back. How had it all come to this? My relationship with Sneaks, my involvement with our baby, and my own future hung in the balance while I waited for a barely legal hooker to maybe respond.
"Great fucking work, Foster," I groaned. "Stellar. You jackass."
Bzz, bzz, bzz.
My phone pulsed, and I opened an eyelid, looking at it. A new email. Of course, I got endless amounts of email. It could be anybody about almost anything. I blew a deep breath, lowering my expectations. A few taps of my fingers later, the email popped up.
It was her, all right. At last, a break, and not a moment too soon.
In it, she told me she wasn't available. She was on vacation in Ibiza, Spain, apparently attending a goddamn music festival.
"Fuck," I muttered. "Spain? That's at least a day each way."
I was already a few days in since Papa died, and the clock was ticking faster than sands ran through an hourglass. Just when it seemed like I got close, the universe kept cockblocking me. I stared at that email, tightening my grip on the phone hard enough to crush it.
Goddamn this bitch. I couldn't believe that some eighteen or nineteen-year-old bimbo who pretty much destroyed my life was sunning herself at a far-flung Spanish resort without a care in the world.
Cool it, Foster. Get your head out of your ass. Before my emotions got the better of me, I refocused and emailed her again.
"I can be anywhere in the world in twenty-four hours. Where are you staying? I'll fly there and meet you. I'll pay extra $$$."
If it took her a half an hour to email me back, it might as well have been ten. My phone buzzed again. Fucking finally.
"Are you hard right now? Jesus baby. Sounds like you can't wait to get your hands on this!"
Yeah, to ring your fucking neck. Only that's not what I said, I played right along.
"Damn right. I can't wait to split you in two."
Just then, the elevator door opened. I heard Trav and Gunnar chatting while they exited.
"In here!" I yelled.
They came around the corner, and I looked in their direction. "I'm talking to her right now."
Trav's eyes rounded. "You're shitting me! How?"
I brought them up to speed. If she emailed back, I needed to be able to respond right away. No telling how flaky she was. Any lapse in communication from me, and she might lose interest, then I'd be right back where I started. Gunnar started to say something when my phone buzzed again with another message from her.
I lifted an index finger at him. One sec.
"You'll have to wait your turn like a good boy. I'm enjoying my time in the sun too much. Anyways, there aren't any yachts like this back home in Chicago. I'm not going anywhere right now."
Progress. I shot back another response in record time.
"Which yacht? We can meet at the marina."
To my surprise, she emailed me right away.
"Wouldn't you like to know? Gotta go babe. I'll be in touch."
Fuck! So close.
Trav and Gunnar sat there while I scrolled through her Insta feed one more time, looking for any clues that might help me. After a few minutes, a series of posts loaded from about a year ago. I didn't know if it was the same music festival or not, but there were several pictures of her on a yacht. The only problem was I couldn't find the name of the boat anywhere.
An idea came to me. I didn't know if it would work, but it was worth a shot. I jumped from the couch and made a beeline for my office.
"What's going on, man?" Gunnar called out.
"One sec! Be right back!"
Once in my office, I got on my computer, went to her profile, and downloaded all the yacht pictures I could find. After running them through a Google image search, it wasn't long before I got a name.
Envidia. Spanish for 'envy'.
"Fuck yeah!" I clapped my hands together.
While I couldn't be sure she was on the same yacht, it was the only chance I had. Now there was only one thing left to do. Get on my jet, head to Spain, and convince her to come back with me before time ran out.
A long shot?
Yes.
Any other options?
Hell no.
37
Envidia (Griff)
I raced back to the kitchen and told the boys my thoughts, revealing my plan to go and grab her.
Trav didn't waste any time, throwing cold water on the idea. "I dunno, seems like a long shot, dude. You know these Insta whores. They jump from yacht to yacht like one dick to the next."
"Whatever, man." I was fucking going. "You're probably right, but that's all I've got to go on. And speaking of going, that's exactly what I'm going to be doing as soon as you two get the hell out of here."
Gunnar shook his head, protesting. "I'm not letting you go by yourself. You're way too amped up to do this on your own."
"Gunnar's right." Trav had a sudden change of heart. "Whatever it takes, we're with you."
At first, I wasn't crazy about the idea, but they weren't taking 'no' for an answer. I knew I'd owe the both of them big time, but if it meant having Sneaks and my baby in my life, no price was too high.
With the mission clear, we took off for Spain with no time to spare. That part worried me the most. I had a hunch I'd be able to find her, but even if I did and could somehow convince her to help me, beating that clock seemed like a tall order.
Since leaving Grant's office, things moved at breakneck speed. I wanted to text Sneaks, call her, whatever, and let her know I was still out here flying halfway around the world fighting for us. But I knew she would only see my promises as more lies. Maybe it was for the best. After all, unless I could come up with the proof I needed, this trip and everything I had riding on it would fizzle.
By the time we arrived in Ibiza, I'd worked myself into a frenzy. The stakes couldn't be higher. We headed straight to the port, and after almost an hour of searching, tracked down the Envidia.
"Now what?" Trav asked.
The guys looked exhausted. I know I should've been also. Adrenaline pumped through me though, giving me the energy I needed to finish this. There was a café across from the yacht.
My idea was simple. Sit and fucking wait.
Sooner or later, we'd get a look at everyone who got on or off of it.
With any luck, one of them would be Tabitha. Unfortunately, the hours dragged on, and the fellas grew restless. Aside from a handful of crew members, we hadn't seen any activity.
"I don't know, Griff," Gunnar grumbled. "I mean, how do we know that yacht's being chartered right now?"
"Yeah, what if she's not even on it?" Trav said, echoing Gunnar's doubts.
"You guys don't have to sit here. Go do whatever you want, but I'm not budging from the spot. If I have to sit here all night, that's what I'm gonna do. I…"
Just then, Gunnar slapped the tabletop with his hand, pointing at the yacht. "Dude. Check it out."
Tracing the line of his finger with my eyes, I saw a group of girls, and in the middle of them, Tabitha.
"That's her." I licked my lips, antic
ipation giving me a fresh hit of focus. "The tall blonde. The one in the middle."
Trav whistled. "Damn, you weren't shitting. She's fine."
I ignored his comment, keeping my eyes locked on her. Every square inch of my flesh tingled with anticipation. More than anything, I had to keep my cool. This was the only chance I'd get.
Luck was on our side. The group walked in the direction of our table, and when they passed us by, I called out.
"Tabitha! Over here."
She snapped her head toward me, and our eyes met. Unflinching, I glared at her.
Gotcha.
Her friends looked like confused baby ducklings, their heads on swivels. Tabitha stood there like a statue, frozen in disbelief. There was a moment when I thought she might make a run for the yacht. If she did, I’d be ready. She started to back away, and I took it as my cue, getting up from my chair.
"Hey, hey," I said, showing her my palms. "I'm not gonna hurt you, I just wanna talk. You owe me that much."
"Fuck you," she snarled, a bitchy tone hung on every syllable. "Who are you, anyway?"
Give me a fucking break. "What, so many cocks across your backside you can't remember?"
"Must've been pretty forgettable." She fed right into my insult.
"That's the whole point," I fired back. "There's nothing to remember… Is there, Tabitha?"
Her friends watched us trade insults, their heads moving back and forth like they watched a tennis match. Finally, she'd had enough.
"What the fuck do you want from me? I don't have anything to say. Leave me alone."
I gave her a slow shake of my head. That's not happening.
"One way or another, you're going to talk to me. You can do it now or later, but I know everything about you, including where you live back in the States."
That was a complete lie, by the way.
She glared at me for a few seconds before huddling up with her friends. I heard vague warnings from them…
Are you crazy?
Don't go near him!