Page 99 of Lovetown, USA
After our conversation, I sit in my office, staring at the computer screen, not seeing a damn thing. I take a few deep breaths, then dial the woman at the center of all this bullshit.
Desiree answers on the third ring.
“We need to talk,” I say. “The case is moving forward. You’re gonna have to testify.”
There’s a beat of silence. “Okay,” she finally says like she’d already been expecting it.
“Cam will, too,” I add.
That gets a sigh out of her, heavy and full of frustration. “I don’t wanna see him dragged into this.”
“You think I do?” My voice is sharper than I mean it to be. “This is where we’re at. He was there, which makes him part of it whether we like it or not.”
She’s quiet again, which is completely out of character.
But then she surprises me.
“It’s my fault.”
I sit up straighter, pressing the phone against my ear. “What did you say?”
“I said it’s my fault. All of this is on me.”
I close my eyes, not knowing what to say. It’s the first time she’s ever admitted it outright. “Thank you,” I finally mutter. “I didn’t even realize how much I needed to hear you say that.”
“I’m sorry,” she says softly. She sounds broken. “I really am.”
Well, since we’re admitting shit, I clear my throat and say, “I’m not blameless. We had problems before he…before you and him. I wasn’t present for you the way I should have been. So I apologize for that.”
“I appreciate that.”
I blow out a breath, letting my head fall back against the headrest. “Can I tell you something?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m scared, Des. I’m taking a big risk fighting this. I could lose everything.”
“You won’t,” she says, and she sounds so sure of herself, I halfway believe her. “I’ll take care of it. You’re not alone in this. I’ll do what I have to do. Don’t worry.”
I nod, feeling just the tiniest bit of hope for the first time since this whole thing started.
Monica looks up from her computer, her mouth full of almonds.
“Dr. Montgomery. What can I do for you?”
“I need to see the mayor.”
She chews quickly, swallowing hard. “She’s not in at the moment. I can let her know—“
“Where is she?”
Monica’s face falls before she schools her expression to something more neutral. “I’m not at liberty to—“
“How much to give you liberty?”
Her eyes widen. “Sir, I…” she trails off when her eyes land on the fat wad of cash I just pulled out of my wallet.
I count out five one-hundred dollar bills, passing them discreetly across the desk.
