Page 39 of Until It Was Real

I return to my bed and cuddle under the covers. I moan at how soft the linens are. The first thing I’m going to do if I ever pay off Adam’s creditors is buy a nice bed with a comfortable mattress and soft sheets.

I yawn. It’s been one long ass day. Between flying to Atlanta, the mess up with the room, and a long meeting with the management team ofVelvet Blossombefore an extensive dinner at some fancy restaurant where I had no idea what to do with the thousand forks and knives on the table, I’m exhausted.

But I don’t have time to rest. I want to get ahead on some work for Eli so that when I return to Smuggler’s Hideaway, I can work fewer hours for a couple days. Sadie’s happy to give me more hours at the motel, and considering I’m missing out on two nights of work due to this trip, I want to grab whatever extra hours I can get.

I log into theBuccaneer’s Whiskeyserver and get to work. My phone rings but I ignore it. I’m in the middle of a spreadsheet. If I stop now, I’ll have to start all over again.

The phone stops ringing and I sigh in relief. My relief isn’t long-lived, though, as it immediately begins ringing again. It must be Eli. He can be quite demanding.

“What?” I answer the phone.

“Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. Is that any way to speak to me?”

Crap. It’s not Eli. Far from it. It’s Grigori. A scary Russian guy my former husband was stupid enough to loan money from.

“What do you want?”

Grigori is scary but I’m not an idiot. If I show him any fear, he’ll pressure me even more. He’s just an old-fashioned schoolyard bully. With a scar on his neck and a gun in his pocket, but still, the concept’s the same.

“I want all the money your husband owes me.”

“Dead husband,” I correct because I do not want Adam linked to me in the present. The asshole is lucky he’s dead and buried.

“What you call him doesn’t change anything. You’re late.”

“I am not late. I have one more day to make the payment.”

As soon as I receive my travel allowance from Eli, I’ll have enough to pay Grigori. I’m in charge of transferring the travel allowance, so technically I could have paid myself early, but I am not falling into that trap. Pay myself early once and pretty soon I’m paying myself months in advance to get this Russian asshole off my back.

Adam was a scumbag. I am not. Even if I have to deal with scumbags now because of him. Rot in hell, Adam. Rot. In. Hell.

“Banks do not transfer money on Saturdays.”

I glance at the calendar and swear under my breath. I forgot tomorrow is Saturday.

“It’s not my fault banks don’t work on the weekends.”

“It’s your fault if the money isn’t in my account by midnight tomorrow. You know what happens then.”

“You can’t charge me two-hundred percent interest because the stupid banks are closed.”

“Those are the terms agreed upon.”

“I didn’t agree to those terms!”

“But you’ll pay, or do you prefer to suffer the consequences when you don’t pay?”

“I can’t pay off the debt if I’m dead.”

He chuckles. The hairs on my neck rise at the evil sound. “My darling, I don’t unalive people. I show them the error of their ways.”

I should probably be recording this to send to the police. Hell, I probably should have gone to the police the first time Grigori contacted me. But a dead snake on my dining room table combined with a creepy message was enough to warn me off.

“You’ll get your stupid money. Now, leave me alone.” I end the call and throw the phone on the bed.

“Who was on the phone?”

“Aaargh!” I scream and clutch my chest.

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