I hear him continuing to bitch, but I end the call so I don’t have to listen to it. I open my messages real quick to make sure the text I sent Sin a half hour ago went through, but my eye catches on the texts from Laurel.
“I’m safe,” she replied, curtly.
Since I couldn’t skip straight to asking who knocked her up since it clearly wasn’t me, I sent back some pleasant bullshit, inquiring how the flight went. She sent back a to-the-point, “Cut the bullshit. If you have something to say to me, say it. If not, I’m busy.”
I didn’t know how to respond to that. Text exchanges are more difficult to read anyway since there’s no tone, but I’ve never interacted with Laurel via text before, so I have no idea what her normal demeanor is like. Usually you can tell if a woman is pissed off at you because she’ll send back brief replies instead of blue blocks of text, or all of a sudden instead of three “lols” or emoji kissy faces per message, you get only words. Laurel certainly gives me no cutesy bullshit, but it’s hard to say whether or not that’s her norm.
I stared at that one a moment, tempted to tell the truth. Tempted to tell her that after thinking it over, I felt I had maybe reacted a little less civilly than I should have, and I wanted to know what her situation really was that it made her desperate enough to try to fool me with such an absurd lie.
Her text read so cold I couldn’t bring myself to do it, though. I sent back another line of bullshit, telling her I had just wanted to make sure she arrived home safely. She didn’t respond after that.
Knuckles rap on my window and my gaze jumps to the glass. I’m expecting it to be Sin, that way we can get this done. Instead, motherfucking Cassandra Carmichael is standing there smiling at me.
Fucking Christ, not her again.
Against my better judgment, I roll down the window.
“Were you planning to come inside?” she asks lightly.
“When I got around to it,” I offer back.
Her cherry-lipped smile widens, her blue eyes sparkling with fondness. “Doing things in your own time, huh?”
“Everything happens on my time now,” I inform her.
“I know,” she replies. “It’s hot.”
I don’t want to talk to her, so I start to roll the window back up. Before I can close it all the way, she shoves a thick envelope through the slot. I let off the button, grabbing the envelope and opening it up to look inside.
“It’s all there,” she assures me, watching me count the bills.
“Where the fuck did you get all this money overnight, Cassandra?”
“That’s not your problem, is it? I got you your money. You and my dad are square.”
I roll the window back down, reaching a hand out. She’s so fucking stupid she leans in toward my touch, but her eyes widen when my fingers close around her throat and I jerk her forward. Now her manicured nails fly to my wrist, but she stops short of fighting back. I’ve choked her before, but not outside the bedroom.
Attempting to maintain her humor despite the rising color in her face, she manages, “If you want to play, maybe we could try this without a door between us.”
“Don’t fuck with me, Cassandra. Where did you get this damn money?”
“I have my own business interests, Rafe. I got a loan.”
“From who?”
“My business partner. It’s all above board, I swear.”
My grip on her neck loosens and she recovers like a champ, like she wasn’t even worried. She should be fucking worried. I’m not above murder, and she already tops the list of my least favorite people.
“How’s your little mouse doing?” she asks.
I have no intention of talking to her about Laurel, but before I can even entertain the notion, she lets out a low whine and backs up like she’s being dragged.
She is. Sin stands behind her holding a fistful of her blonde hair. “I can’t leave you alone for ten fucking minutes, can I?” he asks.
My eyebrows rise. I ignore Cassandra’s whining that he’s hurting her and meet his gaze. “Ten minutes? You need to get a new watch.”
“Rafe,” Cassandra whines. “Tell him to let me go.”