by Nana Malone
What the hell had happened to all of my money?
A small line had started to form. Just three people, but they all stared at me curiously. The woman at the end gave me that sad-eyed, oh-you-poor-dear look, as if to say, ‘Yes, we’ve all been there before, honey.’
This was not my life. I actually had money. Not my parents’ money, either. It was money I had worked hard for. So what the hell had happened to it?
I hated to do it, but I needed to call my parents, or at least call the bank.
When I checked my watch, I groaned. I had ten minutes to get to class, call the bank, and call my Dad. Despite all of their nonsense, I was worried about my parents. If my money was gone, that meant theirs could be too. And I knew that there was nothing that made my mother worry more than a lack of funds.
I made the first call as I hustled down the street, narrowly missing being struck by a yellow taxi.
“Shit. Watch where you’re going.”
His response was less than friendly. It involved middle fingers and several four-letter words.
When my father answered, his voice was a lazy drawl. “Yes, what seems to be the problem?”
“Dad, have you checked your accounts lately? All my money is gone.”
And then he did something that chilled my blood to ice. He laughed. “Yes, well, that’s what happens when I drain your account.”
I stopped.
Right there in the middle of the sidewalk, never minding that I was hit, and struck, and jostled by the rushing pedestrians around me. “You did what?”
“I drained it. You forgot that your account still linked to our main accounts, so I simply went in and took the money. Not to worry; your mother and I won’t touch it. After all, what’s your measly $5,000 going to do for us? But, this will teach you that you really do have to listen to us.”
“You took the money that I worked for? You took it from me. In other words, you stole it?”
His voice dropped an octave and went cold and flat. “Watch your mouth, young lady. You did this to yourself, running off to New York. Your mother said you wouldn’t even talk to her. You insisted on living in some student dorm. What kind of nonsense is that? If you’d have just followed our instructions, you could be living in the lap of luxury right now.”
“Doing what you wanted involved marrying my ex who cheated on me.”
His sigh was heavy. “I swear to God, whose child are you? Your concerns are so pedestrian. You know how this game is played. He could have made sure you had an easy life. But now, you have no money.”
“I have no money because you took it.”
“Yes, well, it’s for your own good. It’ll teach you a lesson. As soon as you call your mother and go stay in the apartment on the Upper West Side, all of this ends. You’ll get your money back, and you’ll have access to ours again. Until then, I have cancelled your credit cards as well, just in case you’re wondering.”
“What is wrong with you two? I’m your child. I’m not a pawn for you to control.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, and it’s where your fundamental view of life is going to get you hurt. The sooner you realize life is all about having power and control, the sooner you’ll be happier. Until then, things are going to get very difficult. Let me know when you’ve called your mother and when you’re ready to have your things moved. I’ll be in the city next week. I love you. I’ll talk to you later.”
Then my father hung up on me. The man had robbed me, made me destitute, and he thought I was going to just do as he said. Well, he had another think coming.
Still shell-shocked, heart beating too rapidly, brain a complete blur and fuzz of what the fuck am I going to do and how the fuck did this happen, I charged to my class, Principles of International Marketing Management. I blindly took a seat, not even seeing the other students jostling around me. To me they were just bodies, a sea of them, all acting as some obstacle in my way. I was numbed, unable to move, unable to perform. My life was over.
One guy stopped in front of me and smiled down. I barely even registered what he looked like. “Hi there, are you okay?”
I only gave him a curt glance and nod. I was not looking for connections with strangers today.
All you have to do to get it back, is do as they say. What’s the worst that could happen?
That was it. That was just the thought I needed to snap me out of it. The worst that could happen had, several times at their hands. They had literally taken my passport from me, kept me from leaving Europe, and kept me beholden to them.
They had practically insisted that I marry someone I didn’t love and when I found out he had cheated on me, they not only blamed me, but insisted it had been my fault and I should take the turd-monkey back.
Well, not again. It was just not going to happen. I would do what everybody else had to do. I’d get a job and figure it out. I didn’t need them. Never mind that they’d stolen from me; that was a different matter altogether. I wasn’t caving. Never again.
“So, were you even going to say hi?”
My head whipped around at the familiar voice that sent a flair of heat spiking through my body. “Lucas?”
He lifted a brow, and there was that signature smirk. The right corner of his lips tipped up, hint of dimple, mischief dancing in his green eyes, full lips looking ridiculously soft and absolutely kissable, face smoothly shaven, dark hair curling slightly and falling over his brow. While he was sitting there looking gorgeous and at ease, my life was falling apart. And he had the nerve to smirk at me? “If you know what’s good for you, I wouldn’t say anything.”
“Oh boy, looks like you’re in a fantastic mood, roomie. That makes two of us. Tell me, are you as sexually frustrated as I am? Honestly, we could just bone and get it over with. I mean, I’m offering this one, you know, free of charge.”
I rolled my eyes at him. I had bigger fish to fry. Lucas Newsome was the least of my problems.
11
Lucas
What the hell was wrong with me? Bryna Tressel was very firmly on the list of things you do not touch. Things you do not look at. Things you do not covet. But since that morning, the way she charged to the living room as if expecting to find me naked, just thinking about her made me twitchy.
Who are you kidding? You’ve been twitchy about her since you realized she was the one you need to look out for.
The moment Sebastian had asked me to do this thing, I hadn’t wanted to do it. But the second I had seen it was her, the girl from the wedding with her canary yellow dress tucked under her thong, I was very onboard.
I wanted to touch her. I don’t know what it was, but I remembered the exact smell of her on the island. Ocean breezes, the scent of hibiscus and gardenia mixed with her sweet and spicy scent. I didn’t know what it was, but I remembered it curling around me, holding me trapped while that raging buttercup read me the riot act, insisting I tell her why men were pigs.
Back then she had been some random hot girl. But now she had a name, and I was tied to her whether I wanted to be or not.
Who are you kidding? You’re the idiot who invited her to move in.
Yeah, well, it seemed like a good idea at the time. Besides, I needed to prove my worth, that I deserved the faith Sebastian was putting in me, so I could do this. I could keep my hands to myself. How hard was that?
You mean besides the fact that you have impulse control issues? As if to punctuate the point, my dick twitched. Asshole.
Sitting next to her all day in Principles of International Marketing Management had been torture. Whatever her perfume or shampoo was, it was driving me mad. And I just kept picturing her perfect ass as it marched ahead in her yellow dress, giving a nice jiggle with each step. God, there was something wrong with me. And then it never just stayed at the ass. Of course, in my best fantasies, somehow the whole dress had just ripped right off. Like the towel.
Marcus snapped his fingers in front of my face. “Are you okay?”
I shook my h
ead and frowned at him. “What?”
“Dude, you’ve been staring at your coffee for the last twenty minutes. Don’t you have French or something right now?”
“Oh shit.” I put the lid on my coffee, irritated that it was now cold. I grabbed my bag and notebook. I’d been sitting at the corner of Tenth at a bistro that I loved.
While I’d meant to be going over my schedule, instead, I’d spent the last fucking twenty minutes daydreaming about Bryna Tressel, the one girl I had no business dreaming about.
You know you can’t do it, so find another solution.
That was actually a good point. The girl clearly didn’t like me, and I didn’t like her.
The damn dick twitched again, as if to say, ‘You cannot like her all you want, but I like her plenty.’ But anyway, she’d come storming out to the living room earlier in the day, assuming that I was with someone. So maybe I needed to be with someone. That would certainly take the edge off. It might even serve to piss off Bryna.
Why do you care that you’re pissing her off?
I didn’t.
Liar.
Perfect point. All I have to do is call any number of girls. It would be easy. Then I could stop thinking about and focusing on Bryna Tressel.
Bryna
This was the day from hell. And it looked like it was never going to end.
I made it through class, despite the fact that I’d somehow managed to find a spot right next to Lucas. Like, legitimately right next to him. During class, I could feel him breathing. Not going to lie, it drove me absolutely insane. With the events of the morning still fresh in my mind, sitting next to him was just adding insult to injury.
After class, I’d called the bank too. Only to be told that nothing could be done as my account was, in fact, linked to my parents’ and because they were the original owners of the account, they had full legal access to any and all money in there.
Shit.
I was so desperate, I half considered going up to the apartment on the Upper West Side and giving my mother what she wanted for the time being. But if I did that, they’d control me for the rest of my life.
The cost was too high. I’d have to figure something else out and quickly. The stipend was barely enough to cover my transportation.
You’re going to keep it together.
It didn’t matter that my life was falling apart. I still had a job to do. I’d just have to deal with my personal crisis on the go. I headed to Central Park to find an elusive beatboxing teen who played the spoons. Word was he could really move too.
But so far, when the slick A&R guys had tried to talk to him, he’d bolted. So they were sending me in to see if fresh, young, and passionate worked. I was no idiot, they were clearly hoping that, being female, I could dazzle the kid or something.
But I’d been standing on his supposed block for over three hours, and he’d never shown. With a sigh, I packed up my bag and headed back for the subway. Defeated.
Nope. Just a setback. Tomorrow will be better. But right now, I couldn’t see my way clear to that.
I made a left toward Columbus Circle then headed down toward the East side. It was then that I heard it, across the street, the sounds of a flute. At least I thought it was a flute. A piccolo maybe. My eyes scanned the crowded streets, but I couldn’t see it. And then the tunes were wrong. It was hip-hop… I thought. Obviously, it was missing all the drums and the bass sounds, but in essence, I would honestly have sworn that that artist was playing Biggie songs.
I forced my brain to focus and locate the sound. It was coming from under the tree across the street, by the subway station. There was a girl with a flute and a hat out in front of her. And she was playing hip hop, which I thought was just astonishing.
Without much care for the traffic or the busy taxis, I dashed out in the middle of the street, skipping, hopping around the cars, and nearly lunging to my death in front of a yellow cab. Happily, I was able to step aside, unscathed and unscratched, and then I ran down to her. “Oh my God,” I took deep breaths. “Holy cow, I love your sound.”
Still more breathing. Wheezing really. And then she said, “Do I know you?”
I shook my head. “No. But you play beautifully. And that flute, with a hip-hop beat? That’s amazing.”
“Uh. Thanks, I guess.” She stared pointedly at her hat.
Still panting I mustered up a sigh and dropped the two dollars I could not afford into her hat. Then I pulled out my card. “I’m with Turntable Records. I’d love to talk to you sometime about what you’re doing with your music.”
Her brows furrowed. “Are you for real?”
“You better believe I am. I wouldn’t have attempted death by cabbie if I wasn’t. Listen, I was looking for someone else today, but then I heard you playing and it stopped everything for me. Honestly, your music is like a beacon of light in a dark tunnel. You were just what I needed to hear right now. Can you play something else?”
As a show of good faith, I put my last five dollar bill in her hat and nodded at her. “Play me something else, please.”
She did. She played some Fugees and a little Lauren Hill, all on the flute. I could almost hear Wyclef Jean with his distinctive patois. “Oh Mona Lisa, can I have a date on Friday…”
When she was done, I stepped back. “You are astounding. Are you represented by anyone?”
She laughed, her afro wiggling in the wind. “No. I just play for little extra cash for me and my sister. Not much to go on at home.”
“Well, I would like to tell you that I think you should be dreaming bigger.”
“You’re the real deal?”
“Pretty much. I’m basically a glorified intern. And my whole job is to find fresh new talents doing new, innovative things. You were just to incredible to walk away from.”
A flush crept up her neck, showing pink on her café au lait skin. “But this was just me playing for fun.”
“It doesn’t matter. Every great artist comes from somewhere, and I think that you can be terrific.”
She fingered my card, folding it back and forth. “Can I think about it?”
“Of course. Just call my number on the back.”
And then I left her. It killed me to walk away. I wanted the win. But I had her in my sights; I just needed to bide my time. No use rushing it. This was a good thing to happen today. I didn’t want to wreck it by pushing too hard.
Besides, I had a train to catch. Maybe if I let her think it through, process the opportunity. But for the first time all day, at least I’d started to feel good. I was doing what I was supposed to be doing. The problem was my whole world outside of this. I needed to get everything back on an even kilter, or I wasn’t going to last three more days.
Let alone three more months.
12
Lucas
Was this really happening? Was Tressel late?
It certainly looked that way.
I still couldn’t get used to my brand-new digs. Sebastian had put me in the charitable trust headquarters which occupied one of the towering skyscrapers just uptown from Broadway.
The whole place was kitted-out with all the latest tech. Glass and steel was the overall décor, with some pops of color added in priceless photos and art prints on the walls. So far most of my job had consisted of meeting with the directors and finding out about their teams, getting to know them.
I had only been here a week, so I was still getting my bearings. Most of the people there wanted to do a good job and not fuck up, which I respected. And no one had balked at my position or even asked any questions.
One thing I had noted was that Tressel wasn’t in the city. His whole team lived and worked remotely, so that old reach-out-and-touch-someone thing was far more difficult. And his entire team was stonewalling when I asked for data.
I was seated in my fancy new Herman Miller chair for a video conference with all the directors, including Lord Tressel. Everyone was on the line, tapping away.
My assistant came in
, and I asked, “He’s really late. Are you sure he saw this?”
She nodded as she deposited a stack of folders on my desk. “Yes. I sent you his confirmation just now. He should be there.”
But he wasn’t.
So far, what I’d been going through for Sebastian was a lot of paperwork. There were all kinds of regulations that needed to be met when dealing with charities and donations. And I could see it. His concerns were founded. There was money missing.
Not a lot. I couldn’t, so far, tell how far back it went, but I could certainly see it. A few thousand here, a few hundred there. And it wasn’t just the Artistic Trust either. Once I’d started looking at that, I could see discrepancies in the other foundations since the very beginning.
So, Tressel was dicking with me. Did he want to see if he could just disrespect me and not show?
So far, what I’d done for Sebastian had been pretty basic. Just a lot of paperwork, exploring down the rabbit hole on the various trails. Where the money started, where it came from, how it was classified; None of it was particularly rocket science. What was interesting was I could see it, whether it was misfiled donations or inaccurate paper work. There was always some step along the way where the wrong dollar amount was put in. And it wasn’t a lot from any particular place. It was just little. A few thousand here, several hundred there, nothing much really to raise alarm. That’s what had sent me digging into the other arm of the Winston Isles’s charities. The Artistic Trust was just one of the many where I had started seeing the worrisome trend. This activity went back for years, at least seven that I could see. It was time to put everyone on notice. I want air-tight documentation. I didn’t want any questions, and I had a feeling that Lord Tressel was not going to like that.
Ryan Cox, the director of the charity arm in our London offices, spoke up. “Do you think we should reschedule?”
I glanced at the clock again. “No. We’re not rescheduling. This meeting was on the books. We’ll wait. If he still doesn’t show up, I’ll dismiss you guys and just talk to him myself.”