Chapter 11
Entertain myself?
Did Julian forget what day and age we’re in?
What am I supposed to do? Count my fingers and toes?
Sing the damn national anthem?
Us humans don’t entertain ourselves anymore.
We let social media do that trick.
Unfortunately for me, I don’t have that option. The moment I saw people commenting on my latest vacation photos, asking if it was funded by the money my father stole, I knew I needed a break.
After eating, I dump my food into the trash, then clean up Julian’s, muttering, “Wasteful prick.”
When I look around his office, my eyes land on the bar.
If you can’t fight boredom with brain rot, might as well make yourself a drink.
I grab Julian’s glass and sweep my gaze over the options.
There are no chasers. Just straight alcohol.
I eeny, meeny, miny, moe until my finger stops on an expensive tequila. We kept the brand regularly stocked in my college sorority house.
I fill my glass, grab the bottle, and take them with me to the couch.
I cringe at the first sip.
Straight tequila is not for the weak.
And I, admittingly, am the weak.
I make myself comfortable before opening Netflix on my phone. Julian gave it back to me earlier. As I drink and try to find a show, my gaze keeps traveling to the door Julian left through.
My curiosity is getting the better of me.
“Don’t do it,” I mutter. “Don’t do it, Genesis.”
To get my mind off possibly making a bad decision, I call Darcy.
Darcy and I have been best friends since middle school. We met in our private-school restroom when she asked me for a tampon. She, Melissa, and I became inseparable until Melissa’s death. I’m grateful I had Darcy with me during that time. We were each other’s grieving partner.
“Why haven’t you answered my calls and texts?” Darcy asks as soon as she answers. “I’ve been worried about you!”
“Sorry.” I frown and finish off my drink. “My life has been absolute madness the past twenty-four hours.”
“Is it true? All the stuff they’re saying about your dad? Is he…” She searches for the right word. “Dead?”
I nod, the alcohol threatening to make its way back up my throat. “Yes.” The word hurts as it leaves my mouth.
“Are you okay?” she asks, sadness in her voice. “I wish I could come give you a hug. I’ll book a flight home.”
“Do not book a flight home. Stay there.”
“Are you sure?”
“I need a second to … process everything.” I can’t hold back a sniffle.
Call me heartless, but it’s hard for me to grieve a man who sold me like an expensive piece of art. He knew Dima was dangerous and would hurt me but didn’t care.
“How’s your mom?”
“Terrific.” I roll my eyes. “She’s lying out in the Tahiti sun, living her best life and hopefully getting a sunburn from hell.”
“She really fled the country? I figured it was the internet just talking shit.”
“She sure did.”
“Damn, I’m so sorry, Gen. Is there anything I can do?”
I sigh. “Right now, just be the good friend you’ve always been.”
Her voice softens. “Always.”
I sniffle as a tear runs down my cheek.
I’ve never felt so lost in my life.
After spending an hour on the phone with Darcy, I peer back at the door.
I don’t know why my brain is so curious about what’s behind it.
Maybe because I want to walk into Julian’s world.
To see more of it.
I wander over to Julian’s desk and attempt to open a drawer.
Locked.
I try the others.
Same.
No shocker there .
I’m going to start calling him the Lock King.
Or maybe King of Locks.
Hey, that’d make a good book title .
Or a villain in a movie.
A blazer is hung over the back of his chair. I peer from side to side, as if checking for a spy, and shove my hand inside the blazer pocket.
Jackpot.
I smile, pulling out a wad of cash and counting it.
Two grand.
Look at me, living up to my family name now.
A little thief .
In my defense, if I push the marriage issue and Julian becomes my husband, what’s his is mine, right? Plus, I doubt he’ll mind missing a few thousand dollars. If he does, I’ll pay him back. Maybe it’ll convince him to give me a job to earn money.
I stop in my tracks when a thought hits me.
Is there a safe in here?
Maybe I won’t have to gamble this money.
I can steal the cash and pay off the Russians.
Pfft, yeah right .
The man has a lock on a drawer, which probably consists of only pens and condoms. He’s not leaving a safe open for easy access. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had a passcode on his cock.
I return to the couch and shove the cash into my purse, a giddy smile on my face. That smile builds when I slowly open the door, finding it unlocked, and leave his office.