Chapter 10
10
Quinn
“ I ’m sorry, I don’t understand,” I say. “Jeanette owns Sugar Rush. She’s in charge.”
The man smiles. “She was , ma’am. This establishment is now owned by Rokaz Asset Management, and as I said, I’m here to ensure the place continues to run smoothly.”
“What did you say your name was?” I ask.
“Viktor Lurakov, Director of Operations, East Coast.”
I take the offered business card, and he holds the door open. “After you.”
Two Russians in one day. It’s not surprising: there are many wealthy people from all over the world living in this city. Jeanette grumbled about how she wanted to sell up but could never find a buyer, so maybe she got lucky.
“So you’re saying you want me to run the bakery as a manager and hire people to work under me?” I see the plate and cup beside the stool where Roman sat and shudder involuntarily. “I mean, I can do that, but not on my current pay rate.”
“Of course not,” Viktor replies. He’s not quite as tall as Roman but has a devilish handsomeness, with eyes like cut diamonds. “We’d start you on one hundred and fifty thousand.”
He smiles as my jaw drops. “Our conglomerate finances several initiatives each year. Our patronage comes with a few upgrades—better security, new equipment, that kind of thing.”
I’ve heard of this. Prominent local business mentors a tiny one. Good PR.
“So what happens today?” I shuffle from one foot to the other. “I came here to open the place for trade.”
My guest shakes his head. “We’ll be installing alarms and cameras, refitting the counters and workspace, you name it. Give us a couple of days. In the meantime, we’ll advertise for someone to replace you as a shopgirl. You need to get used to being in charge before we think about expansion.”
I don’t know what to say, so I nod, trying to take it in. I can’t tell this man that I have nowhere to go. On the other hand, I have the day off and a tale to tell, so there is one place I could head for.
“So I guess you’ll let me know when I’m needed, right?”
“You got it. Keep that card safe in case you need to call me. If you have any problems with anything,” he pauses, raising an eyebrow, “you let me know. Alright?”
I stop outside the door and unzip my purse. I’ll find my Metro card and hot-foot it to Two Pines. Wait until Carrie hears what?—
I give a short yelp of surprise, and a passerby gives me a funny look. I shrug as she moves on before looking again, half-expecting to see nothing unusual.
I was right the first time. A wad of notes rolled and clean, secured with an elastic band. A wad so thick, it could choke a hippo.
I snatch my Metro card and pocket it, closing my purse hastily. There’s no way I can think about that now, but it’s more money than I’ve ever seen.
It takes a while to reach Two Pines, and when I arrive, I’m saddened to see the building looking run-down. The driveway needs sweeping, and wet leaves are rotting in the gutters.
The home is safe, but the care is basic unless the residents can afford to pay for extras. Without her own funding, Carrie gets what she needs but little of what she wants. Knowing she’ll spend the rest of her short life in this shoddy place hurts my heart.
When the matron opens the door, I’m hit by a reassuring blast of warm air. “Carrie has been asleep all morning,” she tells me, leading me through the day room. “She woke up for lunch. Managed a soft egg and one of her build-up milkshakes. Her stomach is sore, so we’ve hooked her up to something to help keep her food down.”
She stops at Carrie’s door and knocks. “Miss Quinn to see you,” she calls before padding away down the corridor.
I open the door to find her sitting in an armchair by her window. I don’t know why she loves that seat; the only view is the dingy gray parking lot. Then I realize her eyes are closed.
“Carrie,” I say softly. “You okay?”
“Hello, sweetheart,” she replies, her eyelids fluttering. She fixes her watery blue eyes on mine and smiles. “I was a bit sickly after eating, but they’ve got me some fluids and medicine in here,” she gestures to the IV drip attached to her arm, “so I’m already feeling much better. I wasn’t expecting you today. Is everything alright?”
I don’t know. Since the day began, I’ve been held captive at a luxurious hotel by a terrifyingly attractive man with a gunshot wound. I escaped—a fact that feels more ludicrous every time I think about it—and went to work, only to find somebody had bought out the bakery and put me in charge.
Oh, and there’s an indecent amount of cash in my purse, presumably placed there by my kidnapper to bribe me into keeping quiet.
I can’t tell Carrie anything. What if she lets it slip to one of her nurses? I mean, it’s unlikely anyone cares what one elderly, terminally ill lady does or doesn’t know, but I can’t risk it.
“Sorry, yes,” I say, sitting beside her. “Everything’s fine. Sugar Rush is having a refit, so I have some time off.”
“And you’re wasting it on me?” Her laugh turns into a cough, and I pour her some water. “Thank you, dear,” she says, sipping her drink. “Surely you have a million fun things to do with other young people rather than hanging out with a fossil like me.”
Outside, a small group gathers below us and boards a fancy-looking coach.
“They’re going on vacation for a few days.” Carrie’s voice betrays her sadness. “Expensive trip; nice hotel, good food. Taking a doctor and some nurses along.” She catches my eye and grins. “Not for me. I’m happy right here.”
She’s lying to me, but I can hardly begrudge her that. She’s spirited but so frail.
“I’m going to get some coffee,” I say as I head for the door. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
I pause at the top of the stairs to look at the bills, and a count reveals that it’s about twenty thousand. I don’t want to hand it all over in case it leads to questions, but if I’m quick?—
“Excuse me,” I call to a nurse as she pushes an empty wheelchair toward the front door. “Is the coach full?”
“No. The holiday costs five thousand dollars each because of all the medical needs and insurance. We didn’t have many takers.”
“I came into a bit of money,” I say. “I know it’s short notice, but if I pay extra, can Carrie go along?”
The nurse stares at me for a long moment. “Let me ask,” she finally replies, retreating through a side door. Three minutes later, she’s back, the manager in tow.
I don’t much like the owner of Two Pines. Her name is Gloria, and as far as I can tell, she hates caring for people. She turns her nose up when she sees me, adopting the priggish air I despise.
“It’ll be seven thousand,” she tells me, forgoing the niceties. “For the expense of adjusting the insurance and additional staff support. And her room and board and?—“
“Fine.” I hold out a bundle of notes. “Here, take it.”
She counts the money, arching an over-plucked brow at me. “Okay, well, thank you,” she sniffs. “Better tell her to hurry and pack.”
I wait for her to walk away before speaking to the nurse. “Don’t tell Carrie it was me. Just say it’s a prize or something.”
The nurse looks surprised but nods. “You wanna go break the good news?”
I run upstairs to Carrie’s room. She’s still staring outside but whips her head in shock as I drag her battered suitcase from under the bed.
“They said you can go!” I say. “A place came up, and you’ve been getting better, so they said you can go along on the trip!”
Carrie’s level gaze stops me. She’s not getting better, and we both know it, but she’s not going to bring us crashing back to earth. Not now.
“That’s marvelous.” She grins. “Now hurry, Quinn, and find my bathing suit!”
I’m waving Carrie off when my cell rings. It’s my former landlord’s number; Mr. Krelborn has been hounding me for weeks to remove my remaining possessions, and I keep telling him I have nowhere to put them. Why can’t he give me time to get a storage unit?
Hot damn. Yes! I can afford one now. I’m on a new salary, too, enough to live comfortably, but he already gave the old place to some yuppie couple.
I slide the button to green. “Mr. Krelborn, I need another day. Please. I have some money. I can go hire a storage unit and?—“
“I made an error with your tenancy,” he says, cutting me off. “It turns out you have rights under the original lease because of the time you lived in the apartment. Raising the rent the way I did was unlawful. I’ve ceded ownership of the building in lieu of legal proceedings.”
“What do you—I mean—I don’t get it,” I stammer. “Why would someone sue you for that? Who cares what you did to me?”
“I don’t know. A property holding company. I don’t think they care about you, but they found out somehow and used it as leverage to get the deal of the century. I can’t afford to go to court over this.”
Krelborn’s tone sours, “So don’t worry about your stuff because you’re getting the place back, rent-controlled and all. The keys will be in the safe in the office whenever you’re ready to collect.” With a click, all I hear is dead air.
What the hell is going on?