Rita
Gregory Callahan.
The one that pulled the gun on me for the crime of interrupting a meeting.
I’ll never forget that cold, dead stare. He brushes past me before I can say yes or no. I stand there in shock, not sure what to do, fear ringing down my spine. My mother’s forgotten, Cait’s forgotten. All I can think of is the offer Scar made me, and suddenly I wish I had accepted.
“What can I do for you, uh, Mr. Callahan?” I squeak, feeling very small.
“Gregory,” he says, pausing in the little sitting room attached to the bedroom. “I had such a nice meeting with your husband that I thought I’d fly down here and give him the good news myself. We’re thinking about hiring him on as our full-time attorney.”
“That’s… fantastic.” I let the door shut. Although I want to keep it open. That way, someone might hear me scream while Gregory murders me. I plaster a smile on my face and clasp my hands in front of my lap. “He’s very good at his job, isn’t he?”
“So they say.” Gregory tilts his head, studying me the way his father did in that back room. It’s such a disconcerting look that I have to glance away as a shiver runs down my spine.
This is the brother that pulled the gun. I remember it clearly, in detail. The weapon was aimed at my face, held steady. No emotion in his eyes, none at all. He would’ve shot me in the head, murdered me then and there if his father had told him to, I don’t doubt it for a second.
This man is a killer. I’m not sure how I know, but I feel it in my bones.
I have to be careful.
“Scar isn’t here,” I say quickly as he glances toward the bedroom. Please don’t go in there. If he checks inside, he’ll only find one bag, one set of women’s clothing. It’ll be obvious I’m not saying with Scar, and that’ll only raise questions.
“That’s okay, I can wait.” He drifts toward the couch. “I recall you had a problem. Is everything resolved?”
“Not exactly,” I say, opting for honesty. “We had an apartment. The building burned down.”
Gregory shows nothing. No reaction at all. “That’s a shame. How’d it happen?”
“I don’t know. We’re still trying to figure that out.”
“Did you lose everything?”
“Almost everything, yes.”
“Pity.” He sits in a chair. “That’s what I like about fires though. They don’t care who you are. How much money you have. Who you work for. They burn and burn, indiscriminate.”
“That’s one way of looking at them, I guess.” What a fucking creep. I glance toward the phone, praying for Scar to call, but why would he? I told him in no uncertain terms that I wouldn’t accept his offer. I’m not going to do this fake relationship thing for real.
But I can’t tell Gregory Callahan that. Not with the dead look in his eyes. The way he doesn’t seem to have any pity at all inside that cold body of his.
The weirdo probably gets off on apartment fires all the time.
“Where is your husband, Mrs. Scarfoni?”
“Call me Rita. And he’s working. I think he’s with a client right now.”
“How long will he be?”
“I don’t know. It could be a while.”
He grunts, frowning. “Was it your idea to elope to Vegas?”
I’m taken aback by the abrupt question. “Uh, I don’t-”
“Or was that Scar? You don’t seem like the Vegas type, but I could be wrong.” He narrows his gaze, staring at my tank top and shorts, the only comfies I brought with me to Boston. The only comfies I have left. I feel suddenly naked in front of him. “How did you two meet?”
“In a bar,” I blurt out.
“Romantic.”
“We clicked immediately. He bought me drinks. Too many drinks.”
“Was he trying to get you drunk?” Gregory’s eyebrows raise.
“Probably! But he was a gentleman. Didn’t even kiss me for weeks.” What the hell am I doing right now? Making up an entire fake dating timeline? Scar is going to stab me. After Gregory stabs me first.
Gregory’s eyebrows drop. “Doesn’t sound like him.”
“We have a very special connection.”
“I bet you do.” Gregory stands. He moves like a lizard, sudden and smooth. He crosses the room, brushes past me, and pauses at the door. “Tell Scar I stopped by. Tell him I’d love to have a conversation while I’m in town.”
“Sure. I can do that. He’ll clear his schedule.”
He stares at me for a long moment. I want to scream at him to get out, get out. It’s like a prey animal’s locked inside of me, and this man is a hunter.
Finally, he opens the door and walks away, leaving as suddenly as he appeared.
I slump against the wall, heart racing. What the living hell was that? Why is Gregory Callahan here all of a sudden, asking about how I met Scar and why we supposedly eloped to Vegas? Is that what Scar told them? God, this is such a nightmare. I thought I’d be safe from those monsters here in Dallas, but clearly I was wrong.
There’s another loud bang at the door. I jump, yelping, and cover my mouth. I have to stand for a few seconds as sweat breaks out in tingles under my arms.
“Room service,” a man says from the other side of the door.
Shaking, I let him. He pushes a cart inside, sets it up, and pauses. “Anything else?” he asks.
Expecting a tip. But unfortunately for him, I have no money. “No, thanks, that’s everything.”
He frowns but leaves. I shut the door behind him, lock the deadbolt, then practically run to the bottle of champagne.
I don’t bother pouring it into a glass. I break out the cork then pour it down my throat, my hands trembling at the thought of Gregory Callahan looking into the fake story Scar spun them.
What nightmare did I stumble into? And how am I going to get out of it without marrying my boss for real?
Assuming I’m even still employed at this point.
God, what am I going to do if I lost that job? I don’t want to take Scar’s offer, but I really, really need the paycheck.
I slump down to the floor, champagne between my knees, and I spend the next half hour hugging the bottle, seeking some comfort before I make the call I’m dreading most of all.