Page 89 of A Secret and a Lie
“Don’t go anywhere without Marcus.” It was meant to be a request but came out as a command. She purses her lips, but says nothing, as she turns on her heel and stalks from the room, leaving me alone with nothing but the soft ticking of the clock.
As I continue to sip my coffee, I abandon my phone on the kitchen table, tapping my index finger on the glass top.
What’s at the heart of this situation? Could there really be more to it than what skims the surface like Drake mentioned? York claimed he was planning to cut down on corruption and Genevieve is the vessel of depravity and extortion. When I talked to my best friend last night, he said he was still digging further into this, and he’s more sure than ever that he’s onto something.
I can only hope Drake’s wrong.
But what if he’s not?
Genevieve
“How many clients have we lost?” I ask.
Corinne and Marcus glance at each other, and I know before my best friend even answers that it’s going to be bad.
“Eighty-eight.”
I close my eyes briefly and take a deep breath, slowly exhaling through my nose. That’s far more damage than I expected. Especially considering that most of those clients aren’t specifically mine.
Guilt that my employees lost out on precious income because of me and my fickle desire to submit stabs me in the heart, radiating throughout my chest until it laces itself around every rung of my ribcage.
“How many employees did we lose?” This is the question I’ve been dreading, but the one that’s more important to me than the number of clients I’ve lost.
There are far too many Leos walking the streets. I’ve beenout therebefore, so I know there aren’t all that many establishments like the one I run. If they aren’t working for me, then they’re vulnerable, exposed.
Corinne’s dark eyes soften to liquid pools of milk chocolate. “Twenty-four.”
My stomach bottoms out.Twenty-four endangered people.
“I want lists,” I tell them both.
Corinne gives me a small smile, dipping her chin. “I already have them for you.”
She passes me a small stack of stark-white papers with organized lists of the employees who have left as well as the clients and which of my employees they frequented.
Scanning the list, I find that I’ve lost the majority of my own clients, but a significant number of Liam’s and Sloane’s are among the names that have left. Every single one of us has lost someone.
Clenching my fists, I try to tamp down my contempt. I kept those secrets safe when I could’ve used them to release myself from prison. I’ve always considered them to be a last resort, so perhaps I need to remind these wayward clients who chose to keep their confidences.
I sigh audibly, setting the list on my desk. “Who are the personal clients I have left, if any?”
Corinne nods. “Henry.” No surprise there. “Elliott,” she continues.
Two.
I’ve been the most prestigious, highly sought-after Madam in the United States for the better part of a decade, and I have two fucking clients left. Everything I’ve spent the last decade building, nearly burned to ash.
But I’m not so easily beaten. Ask Leo.
Taking a fortifying breath, I tell Corinne and Marcus, “Let’s start making calls.”
We spend the majority of the day on the phone, reassuring both clients and employees alike that we’re still in business and their secrets are safe and sound, untouchable by the Feds. It’s true. While they may have kept my red journal, I can sleep at night knowing they’ll never access the contents. Although, I’m finding that it’s difficult to convince my clients of that fact.
I’ve managed to talk twelve of my employees into coming back,the remaining sixteen either refusing to take my calls or mentioned they weren’t interested in returning.
I was a little apprehensive about how Sloane might take it when I told her thatClarkwouldn’t be her client anymore. It turns out that anxiety was baseless. She’d just winked and said, “I think we both know he was always your client.”
The clients are another story entirely. They’re far more skittish, with good reason. If I’d told someone I was taking money from Japan to ensure certain laws were passed in their favor or that I was sleeping with the Prime Minister of Great Britain, I’d want to distance myself, too. But no matter how fast you run, your past will always beat you.
