“Not yet, but soon.”
“Fuck,” I breathe out. The thought of her receiving the news… “Can you go over there and clean it up?”
“It’s too late,” he says. “Or I would. But I do think she’s gonna need help. I think she’s going to need you.”
“Me?” I ask, turning to face him, surprised. “What the fuck can I do?”
Z gives me a knowing look. “You know the answer as much as I do.”
“She lost the right to my help the day she kicked me out of The Whitney.”
“Let that hate go, dude. At least right now. You know our fathers are rolling over in their graves right now.”
“Not my fault,” I snap. “And you’re damn right our fathers would be pissed. We should both still be living at The Whitney like before, and you know it.”
“Regardless, right now, Katja needs you. You know this.”
“This doesn’t involve me,” I say, pacing the room as thoughts of our past rush through my mind. “I don’t care.”
“But you do,” Z points out calmly.
“Fuck,” I say. “Fuck.”
Chapter Five
KATJA
What the hell is that pounding?
For a few seconds, I lay with my eyes closed, trying to decide if it’s a dream or not.
I get my answer in the form of a flurry of knocks on what sounds like the bedroom suite’s door.
What an asshole.
Tristan accidentally locks a door behind him on his way to fuck his mistress and then has the balls to wake me up to let him in.
“Sleep on the fucking couch, you bastard!” I shout as I readjust my sleeping mask and punch my pillow to get comfortable again.
I’m just relaxing when the pounding resumes… harder… faster.
Motherfucker.
Right on time, I hear the whisper of my mother’s voice chastising me that ladies don’t talk like that. How sad. I don’t know what my mom’s favorite song was, or what celebrity posters she had on her wall as a teenager. A million little things I didn’t have time to learn, but without fail, I hear her voice loud and clear when I do something that breaks the socialite code.
Recognizing I’m not going to get back to sleep until I let my philandering husband back in, I get out of bed. I’m tempted to open the door naked just to remind the bastard what he’ll never have but have second thoughts and throw on the robe I’d dropped to the floor when getting into bed.
“I’m coming!” I shout, walking through the darkened suite. I hadn’t checked the bedside clock but based on the dark sky outside the floor-to-ceiling wall of windows, it’s still the dead of night.
“What’s the matter? You don’t have the staying power to make it all night?” I ask, reaching to unlock the door.
The door that isn’t locked.
I fling it open before it dawns on me that I should have confirmed it was Tristan before opening it, but then again, who else would be knocking on the door to our bedroom suite at this hour?
“Mr. Jenkins. My goodness, is there a security event?”
Nothing rattles Mike Jenkins. He’s seen it all over the years… especially in the years before I kicked out the devil and his gang of demons. So, the fact that Mike looks like he’s about to be ill doesn’t bode well.