Page 80 of Sinful Promises

She offered her hand. “Good luck to you.”

Grinning so wide I could barely speak, I said, “Thank you.”

Chapter Eighteen

Thirty-seven hours later, I dragged my suitcase into a hotel in London that was within walking distance of the Vacation Dreamz office and booked in for two nights. I showered, and although I was exhausted, I grabbed my bag and returned downstairs.

Within minutes, I was walking across my previous employer’s parking lot.

I pushed open the door.

“Daisy?” Tracy stood and came around the desk. “What’re you doing here? Is your mother okay?” She wrapped her arms around me and we hugged.

“Mother’s fine.”

“Oh, that’s such a relief.”

“I’ve come to ask a favor. May I have Roman’s phone number please? When Bruce took my phone off me, I lost all my contacts and?—”

“I don’t think so.” Bruce barked so loud both Tracy and I jumped.

I turned to him, shooting daggers with my eyes. “Pardon?”

“We don’t give out private information.” The smirk on his face was hideous. He swaggered toward me, triumphant. “Don’t you remember our discussion?” He raised his eyebrows.

I wanted to kick him in the balls. The rotten bastard was using my own argument against me. “Bruce? Come on.”

He let out a ghastly breath. “It’s policy now.”

It took everything not to slap the smirk right off his face. “You’re a real bastard. You know that, don’t you?”

Tracy gasped and I stormed from the office.

It wasn’t until I reached my hotel that I arrived at an alternative plan. In four days’ time, it would be the first of December—Roman’s first day of tour. And I’d be there to meet him face-to-face. That was even better than calling him.

Elation drifted through me so beautifully, it was like I was dancing in a giant poppy field. I just had to kill a few days without going crazy with anticipation.

I started the countdown by ordering a giant feast for breakfast, and while I was waiting for it to arrive, I called Zali.

“You’re alive. Thank God. I was beginning to think you’d killed the bitch yourself and you were in jail or something.”

“Sorry, babe. I’ve got so much to tell you. I hope you have time.”

“I’ve got nothing but time.”

For the next hour, I told her everything from finding the newspaper and diamond necklace to me packing up Mother’s trailer, organizing her funeral, and the police charging her with obstructing justice.

“They should charge her with child abuse. How the hell could she choose her fucked up idea of what a family is over your safety?”

“I know. She’s fucking nuts. But there’s something else. The police have confirmed that Robert wasn’t my father.”

“What? How’d they do that? A blood test or something.”

“Nope, ready for this?”

“I think so.”

“He was in jail when Mother had that fucking orgy.”

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