Page 71 of The Confidentiality Clause
I look out the window next to me and watch as the city gets smaller and smaller. If only my problems would do the same. I wish there was a way I could have it all, but the evidence points to that not being true. How can I choose between my dream career and the people who care for me? The decision should be easy, but it’s not. I chose thisbecauseof my family. If I give up now, I’ll have let them and myself down.
Another sigh leaks out of me. I don’t have time for an existential crisis right now. I need to focus on what’s in front of me. The medicine will hold back the worst of things. Once I make it through, I’ll deal with my issues. A feeling of deja vu slips over me as I realize I’ve made that promise one too many times. But what’s one more?
I squint in the harsh light as I step onto the tarmac. Hot, dry air mixed with the scent of smog fills my lungs. I pull out my phone.
Brock: I made it. And I’m not mad at you. Sorry I was a jerk.
Ariel’s reply comes fast.
Ariel: Good–and I’m used to it by now. I hope you can smooth things out quickly. Call if you need anything.
I sigh. I’ve messed up too many times. This morning I tried to make up for my mistakes with breakfast and music, but I managed to hurt her yet again. I shoot off a quick reply.
Brock: Thanks. I will.
I slide my phone back into my pocket and head toward the car waiting to take me to Vinny’s mansion in the hills. The traffic will probably take just as long as the flight did, but at least I’m in the same state as him now. That should help my case. He hasn’t expressed any anger toward me, but I want to be sure he’s happy.
The drive is–as predicted–unreasonably long. It’s early evening by the time I make it to Vinny’s estate. I tip the driver, then lug my carry-on suitcase to his front door. I won’t be staying here, but there’s no way I’d go to my hotel first in a situation like this.
The front door opens and Vinny’s wife, Renata, stands there. She’s wearing a long sundress that probably cost thousands of dollars, with stacks of gold bangles and matching layered necklaces. Renata is the type of woman who’s never caught not looking like a model. Last year, I organized an interview with a prominent magazine all about fashion for the wives and girlfriends of professional baseball players. She got on the front cover.
“Brock,” she breathes, “thank goodness you’re here. Vinny got a call from the channel that reporter is from. They agreed not to press charges if he comes on the show and apologizes. He said no.”
I take a deep breath as I process this information. “Let me talk to him. I’ll make sure this gets handled, don’t worry.”
“Thank you.” Her voice grows shrill. “He can’t go to jail.”
“I’m not going to jail, Ren,” Vinny’s deep voice drawls as he walks up. “Why don’t you go lay down by the pool for a little while and relax?”
She puts her hands on her hips. “Vincent James, if you think I’m going to leave your side after that stunt you pulled on the phone, you are sorely mistaken.”
He lets out a heavy sigh. “Okay, let’s go into the living room.” He looks to me as we walk through the grand foyer. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner,” I say sincerely.
He shrugs. “Not much you could have done.”
“Sounds like I could have prevented you from getting charges pressed.”
He scratches the back of his neck, revealing the tattoos decorating his arm. “Yeah, I might have laughed at them when they suggested I apologize.”
I try not to grimace. “Great. That’s going to make my negotiating a little harder.”
“Sorry, man. The stuff that guy said–”
I hold up my hand. “You were defending your family, now I get to defend you. Give me a rundown of everything that has happened in the last twenty-four hours. From the moment you hit him until now.”
We settle in on the couch and he starts to go over everything, with Renata filling in any details he misses. By the end of the story, I’ve formulated a game plan that should fix everything.
“I’m going to make a few calls. There won’t be any apologies, but I will coach you on what to say during future interviews,” I tell Vinny, then look to Renata. “And he won’t spend so much as a day in jail. You have my word.”
Her shoulders relax. She gives me a grateful smile. “Thank you, Brock. I don’t know what we’d have done without you.”
I smile. “You won’t have to find out.”
Chapter thirty-two
Ariel Cambridge
