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Sha
“I will text you and keep you updated. I can even send you pictures and video,” Christine said, as she continued to shoo her away.
“Yes, please do,” she said, and then walked out of the club.
Along the way, she spotted James, Brent’s key investor and advisor. “Hi James,” she said with a quick wave.
“Hey, Shay. How’s everything going? The dancers look great, don’t they?”
She gave him a double thumbs up. “Thank you. So glad you feel that way. And thank you for your time earlier in the week.”
“It was nothing. Brent’s great. Glad to help out, even if it means my mug is on camera.”
She race-walked past the shops of the Luxe and threaded her way through the slot machines and card tables on her way to the exit. She handed the ticket to the valet, and tapped her foot as she waited for her car. She lowered her shades, and grabbed her phone from her purse. She had several missed calls from Brent.
Shit.
She hadn’t heard her phone when she was inside Edge and the music was playing.
Quickly, so she could get out of Dodge in a jiffy, she called up the GPS app on her phone, plugging in the address of the Stella McLaren Federal Women’s Correctional Center in Hawthorne, Nevada. Four hours and thirty minutes away, the app predicted. That was doable. Very doable. She plugged in her headset and dialed Brent.
“You looking for me?”
She stared at the screen. The voice didn’t seem to be coming from the phone. It was coming from... she looked up and saw the valet shutting a town car door, then her husband walking over to her.
She parted her lips to speak, but he went first as another valet pulled up with her little red car.
“I’ll take it from here,” he said. “I’ll drive.”
“But...” she said, sputtering.
“No ifs, ands, or buts about it. No wife of mine is driving five hours in the desert, then five hours back to catch a flight to be by my side. I’m going to be by her side,” he said, his eyes fixed on her, his gaze so strong, as he opened the passenger door for her. She slid into the car, the surprise of seeing him still working its way through her.
He walked behind the vehicle, tipping the valet, then got in on the driver’s side. After adjusting the seat and the mirrors, he pulled out of the Luxe’s portico.
“Did you just literally walk off the plane?” she asked, still trying to compute that he was there, and not flying across the country to New York. “Stand up and leave? Like in the movies or something?”
He nodded as he flipped on the blinker to turn right. “I did.”
“So we’ll take the red-eye together?”
He shook his head. He was gri
She scrunched her brow. “I don’t get it.”
He dropped a hand to her thigh and squeezed. “The red-eye was booked. No room on it. Turns out my wife got the last seat, and I’m having none of that. I missed the chance to be there for you in the past. This is important. You’re not going alone. I’m going with you. Every step of the way. I called Ta
She brought her hand to her chest, overwhelmed by what he’d done. How he’d chosen her. How he’d walked away from work to stand by her. “What did he say? Was he angry?”
“He wasn’t too happy about it. I said I had to be here for you. Case closed.”
“But you’ll lose New York if you don’t go to the picnic tomorrow.”
He flashed her a million-dollar smile. “Sometimes you win. Sometimes you lose. And sometimes you decide there are more important things than a business deal. Like you. Always you.” He pointed to the radio. “Now, let’s crank up some tunes. You got a desert driving playlist? We need something to rock out to.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Would ‘Folsom Prison Blues’ be too ironic?”
“Irony is my middle name.”
She turned on Joh
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
The air conditioning hummed, blasting out sheets of cool air in the stark visiting room. Sha
She tried to conjure up an image of her mother, tried to remember how Dora had looked at Christmas, but the images that paraded before her eyes were older ones, so much older. Sewing Sha
Someone opened the door.
Sha
“Hello,” Sha
Her mother entered, and Sha
Her mother was a shadow of the woman she’d once been. Her bright blond hair was the color of dishwater, her cheeks were sunken, and her green eyes were a shade of sallow. Even so, she smiled. Her lips, with their cracked red lipstick, quivered as she held out her arms for a hug.
“My baby,” said the woman in orange.
Sha
“Oh, baby. My baby. It is so good to see you again,” Dora said, her mouth closer to Sha
“It’s good to see you, too, Mom,” Sha
“I’m so happy you’re here.” Another firm grip, then she felt the first drop from her mom’s eyes. A tear had fallen on Sha
“All right, Prince. That’s enough,” the CO said, her command clear.
Sha
“Mom, stop,” Sha
“Behave, Prince,” the woman warned as she shut the door, leaving Sha
“Baloney,” her mom said.
“Baloney?”
“That’s what they fed me the other day. Baloney on white bread. Can you believe it? Baloney.” Her mom brought her hand to her eyes, covering them, as if the memory of the cold cuts was too much to bear. “I hate baloney.”
“Tell them you hate it.”