Page 104 of Your Every Wish
Kennedy doesn’t answer at first, then gives a half-hearted nod. “It’s where my job is—if I still have one. There’s always the Bellagio or the Wynn. Both have been trying to recruit me for months.”
“There you go.” But the thing is I’ll miss her. Sure, it’s less than two hours to Vegas by plane. But it won’t be the same. I rest my hand on top of hers. “I’ve really loved getting to know you these last few weeks. I wish you weren’t going.” And there it is. I very much want her to stay.
“I’ll come to you, and you’ll come to me. Maybe we can buy our own private jet with all the loot we get.” She turns her hand over and squeezes mine.
“Did you ever think we’d like each other so much?”
“Truth? Before we met, I hated you.”
“Why?” I should be appalled but it’s such a Kennedy thing to say. And I don’t mean that in a bad way. She’s honest to a fault, which is part of her charm.
She waits a beat, then says, “I had this idea in my head that Willy loved you, that you were his legitimate child, and I was the mistake. The one he wished never happened. I was convinced that you had a relationship with him.”
“Nope. I had exactly what you had, a whole lot of nothing. But I do believe that in his own way he loved us both. He wouldn’t have kept all those pictures of us if he didn’t. Plus, he made us his only heirs, and if it pans out, went to a great deal of trouble to leave us his fortune. That has to count for something, don’t you agree?”
“I do,” Kennedy says. “But the best thing he did was bring us together. We may not have had him, but we have each other. ”
My heart feels like it’s beating out of my chest, and I repeat, “We have each other.” Because we do.
Kennedy
Today’s the big day. Bent is bringing his excavator. It’s been at a job site in another county for the last few days, that’s why we’ve had to wait. To say I’m nervous is an understatement. On one hand, if the money is there, my troubles are over. On the other hand, if the money is there it may mean that my troubles have just begun.
But I guess I’m willing to go for broke. Like Willy, I’m a gambler. I’ve already told Emma that if we find Willy’s fortune and for some reason the FBI finds out, I’ll take the rap. She rolled her eyes and told me to shut up. Still, I know she’s nervous about it. That kind of money can be life changing, and not always in a good way.
Take Willy, for instance. At one time, he was richer than Taylor Swift (well, maybe not that rich) and yet, it wasn’t good enough for him. He had to buy stock using inside information, even though it’s illegal. And what for? He already had everything he needed and more. So instead of getting richer, he went to prison, got cancer, and died. As far as I can tell, no one went to his funeral, if he even had a funeral.
So as much as it’s a cliché, maybe the moral of the story is money can’t buy happiness. Or even a better house on the California coast.
“You ready?” Emma comes into my room bundled up like we’re living in the frozen tundra. Saturday’s Halloween and the temperatures already feel like winter.
“Just about. Whose idea again was it to do this at the crack of dawn?”
“Bent’s, I think.” She takes a moment to look at me, really look. “You don’t seem as excited as I thought you’d be.”
“Nervous, I guess.”
“Yeah, me too.” She slings her arm over my shoulder. “Promise that you won’t be upset if the money isn’t there.”
“Great, not only will I be out the thirty thousand—now forty—I owe Brock Sterling, but I’ll also have to find the cash to reimburse Bent for his stupid rock wall.”
“Let’s take it one step at a time.”
“You sound like an advice columnist.”
Emma grins. “Because I am. And a damned good one.”
Not so good if she’s willing to move in with Dex, but that is a discussion for another day. Today, full steam ahead on finding the money.
“Let’s do this.” I slip into my ski jacket, put on a woolen hat for good measure, and catch my reflection in Ginger’s wall mirror on our way out. I’ve got dark circles under my eyes and a bad case of resting bitch face.
I’m not in the mood for walking, so we take the BMW, picking up Liam on the way. He’s standing at the bottom of his driveway wearing a Pendleton sweater, backpack, and ski cap, holding a thermos and three mugs. The man thinks of everything.
“Misty says she’ll meet us there,” he says as he folds himself into my back seat. “I’ve been monitoring the cameras and we’re good.”
Liam rigged up a hidden security system to make sure no one snuck in and stole our booty. Though we’ve been trying to keep the golf bag and money under wraps, word has a way of spreading around here. And I trust Bent McCourtney about as far as I can throw him. Though to be fair, if he’d wanted to, he could’ve claimed rights because the bag is partially on his property. In any event, Liam’s a godsend. I have no idea how he knows how to do this stuff but he’s kind of a genius at jimmy-rigging anything mechanical. The area by the bocce ball courts doesn’t have Wi-Fi, so it’s not like we could’ve installed a Ring or any of the other security cameras they sell nowadays. But Liam came up with a way to do it. A real-life Q from James Bond.
Bent’s already at the meeting spot, standing beside his excavator in a thin jacket and cowboy hat. He reminds me of a small boy on Christmas morning (okay, there’s nothing about Bent that says small boy), radiating excited energy. He’s totally into this.
