Page 56 of Denying Davis
“No.” I put my head in my hands. The bourbon hadn’t kept a headache away, and my temples throbbed. “I can’t think about that right now.”
“Of course. I’m sorry to bring it up. I’m just so used to the business side of things with your family. It’s simpler than letting my emotions get in the way.” He cleared his throat. “Your grandfather was a good man.”
I raised my head and blinked at him. “Yes, I guess he was.”
What a joke. What a boldfaced lie. My grandfather was the very opposite of that, and I knew it. Not that I would have offered any other response to Gregory’s words. One rule about the dead—once someone departed this earth, you didn’t admit what they really were. Didn’t speak badly about. Even if you realized you never knew them at all.
“I suppose you’ll give the eulogy at the funeral,” he said.
“I suppose so.”
What would I say? What would I bring up? I had no idea. I only knew one thing.
I wanted to talk to Samantha.
Immediately. Before I did anything else—before I made any other moves. Talking to her would ground me. Keep me sane. Make sure I didn’t do anything stupid.
“Give me a minute,” I told Gregory. I yanked my phone from my trouser pocket. It had a new message waiting for me from Sam, and I’d almost missed it since my phone was on silent.Yes. She replied.I opened the app.
Lose my number. Don’t contact me again.
“Fuck,” I said under my breath.
“Fuck what?” Gregory asked.
I looked up from the phone. “It’s an emergency. I need to take care of something. Right now.”
After I deleted his number, Davis texted me four times and called three. Twice, he left a voice message. I saw all the messages. I listened to him grow frantic with each heartbreaking plea that he left.
But I didn’t answer any of them.
I’d said my piece. I’d made it clear. From now on, I’d be staying far away from Davis Armstrong and his family’s empire. They had burned us twice. I wouldn’t let it happen again.
So instead, I turned off my phone the following morning.
I threw it in the bottom of my purse, burying it beneath my wallet, makeup bag, sunglass case, and a few stray bills. Making it disappear seemed like the best solution. I’d only use the phone when I needed it, and that didn’t happen often anyway. Then I focused on getting dressed. I had a shift at Royal Palm to get to. And Mom was improving.Slowly.If the hospital needed to contact me about her, they had the Royal Palm phone number in our list of emergency contact numbers. I could unplug for a moment. I certainly needed it.
And, it felt good to get my priorities in order. On the drive to work, I repeated to myself the truths that made it clear a relationship with Davis would never work. His family had spent a lifetime dominating mine. They had secrets they didn’t want to acknowledge, not the least of which involved my mother. Davis Armstrong Jr. had been a terrible man, but no one would have expected him to put me ahead of risking a billion-dollar inheritance by angering his grandfather.
I wasn’t worth that much.
My shift passed slower than any I’d ever worked. The night crawled by as slow as a baby turtle on the sand, and I almost fell asleep three times. It was so bad that I welcomed a visit at the desk from Howell McDougal around ten fifty, when he stumbled into the lobby after having cocktails at PB Catch, a fancy seafood and steak restaurant in Palm Beach I’d often heard about.
“You seem sad,” he said, the thick smell of rum punctuating every word he spoke.
“I’m fine.” I tossed him a fake smile. “Perfectly fine.”
“I doubt that, but you’re the best desk assistant in the building,” Howell replied, slurring his words just a touch. “People ought to tell you that more.”
“Thank you. You’re too nice.”
He frowned and took his phone out of his trouser pocket. “Excuse me.” He unlocked his phone and stared at the screen. When he looked up again, his eyes were wide and serious.Sober.“Oh, hell. Unbelievable. Davis Armstrong is dead.”
“What?” My breath caught in my throat and all the blood rushed to my face as I jumped up from my place at the front desk. “Davis Armstrong? He’sdead?”
Still focused on his phone, Howell held up a hand. “It’s the older one. Senior. Davis Armstrong Senior is dead.” He looked at me. “The news alert says he died of a massive stroke earlier today.”
A small pulse of relief moved through me. “He was old.” I shifted my gaze from his. “I mean, that’s what I heard. That he was, um…I think he was maybe in his eighties.”
