1. Luna
CHAPTER 1
Luna
“What do you mean, it's going to take six more months? You said three months, and that was two months ago. The math isn't mathing.”
I adjusted my hard hat. They were required on all job sites, although it really ruined my look. My red bob would be a frizzy mess by the time I was done here, but I'd gladly sacrifice my usual put-together look to ensure this latest venture was a success.
Unfortunately, the second I set my stiletto-clad foot out of my car, I knew it was bad news. My contractor hadn't told me the whole truth, and I'd gone too long between site visits. I should've been personally checking in on the progress every other day to keep them on their toes.
Jordan Weber, my lead contractor on the project, proceeded to spin some bullshit web of confusing, circular arguments without ever really explaining explicitly why my project was months behind. I should be walking around a building with some completed walls and a semblance of the casino it would become. As it stood now, the space was basically a blank slate. There were slabs of concrete and not much else…
A sharp pain jabbed behind my eyes. “Dammit.”
I knew this feeling all too well. My migraines had been getting worse lately. The late nights at the club combined with early mornings checking on my new project were running me ragged.
Pivot, Marks. Make a new plan .
“I want to see all your emails on this project within two hours. I'm going to make some calls.”
I turned on my heel and went back to my black sedan. Luckily, my driver, Darnell, hadn't left. He knew the drill and would stick around until I gave him a solid ETA on when I'd need him to return.
As I opened the car door, I turned over my shoulder. “Get me those emails, Jordan. I'll be back tomorrow to talk to you and the crew.”
Then I slid into the car and shut the door, wincing at the loud noise.
Fuuuuuck .
I searched my purse to find my medication. If I took it early enough, I could avoid the worst of it.
My hand slid over the familiar cylindrical container. “Gotcha.”
I popped the lid and threw back the little white pill, unscrewing the top of my water bottle and sipping some water to help the pill reach its destination.
My sunglasses provided some protection against the glaring summer sun. The tinted windows added another layer.
Still, it wasn’t enough.
I groaned, pinching my eyes closed and tipping my head against the leather headrest.
“I'll turn the music off, ma'am,” said Darnell.
“Thanks, D.”
He turned off the light jazz music he loved to play.
I willed the migraine to go away.
There were so many things I'd have to do.
First, hire a new contractor—perhaps a woman this time. I should have done that from the jump. Second, I needed to follow up to see if we had an issue procuring the resources for the project or if it was a result of failed leadership. Contemplating these necessary next steps did nothing to help the metaphorical icepick currently lodged between my eyeballs.
“We’re going to have to make trips out to the worksite every other day, Darnell.”
“We can do that,” Darnell assured me.
“Remind me to give you a raise when my head doesn't feel like someone ran a spike between my eyes.” My stomach roiled.
That was not a good sign.
Please work , medicine. It would totally ruin my day to have to pay for Darnell’s car to get detailed because I couldn’t keep my breakfast down.
“Just ten more minutes,” Darnell said, as he pressed the turn signal.
“Thank God.” I didn't think I could manage much longer in this car. With my eyes closed, I dug into my bag, searching for my little blue sea bands. I’d purchased them for a flight long ago and they were frayed from overuse. The little bands were supposed to hit pressure points in my wrist to naturally alleviate nausea.
I could use all the help I could get. Even if I was half convinced it was just a placebo effect.
By some miracle, I made it to my brownstone without spewing my guts all over the nice leather seats. I waved off Darnell, insisting I was well enough to get myself in bed.
I managed to enter my sixteen-digit code that Sebastian Steele, a friend and confidant, made me set up. It only took three tries.
The door clicked open as something caught my eye in the periphery. A for-sale sign, next door.
Hmm, that wasn't there this morning .
But that was the least of my worries. I stumbled inside, kicking off my heels, and landing on the chaise lounge near the door. Despite what I told Darnell, there was no way I’d make it up the stairs.
My phone beeped, and the high-pitched chime rattled in my ears.
It didn't work. The medicine didn't work. The nausea worsened. The spike through my brain stayed firmly in place.
I wanted to curl up and cry. Instead, I glanced at my watch. It was still early, but there was a good chance I couldn't get off this chaise lounge today.
“Hey, Siri. Call Monroe.” I had to let someone on my team know I was incapacitated and unlikely to come in today.
The phone rang. I curled up in a ball, the phone lying in front of me on the plush chaise.
“What’s up, boss?” Monroe answered.
I'd hired Monroe last year, and it was one of the best business decisions I'd ever made. Trust was hard for me to come by, but Monroe earned that trust every day.
“Monroe,” I groaned.
“Shit, it happened again, didn't it?”
I hummed. “It's bad this time.”
“Did you take your meds?”
“Yes but not working.” Great, I couldn't even speak in full sentences. “Fort, hold down.”
Annnnd now I’m Yoda.
“Aye aye, Captain. You can count on me,” Monroe said, as if eager for the challenge. “Do you need us to drop anything off?”
“Fine,” I insisted before hanging up, even though I was far from fine . I couldn’t spend even ten more seconds on the line.
I sighed. Blissful silence… Until I succumbed to the pain, and soon the lure of sleep pulled me in.