Page 23 of Trust Me

CHAPTER6

Riley

I press the ignore button on my phone for the third time today. It’s Dean Walsh calling for another update. I wish it were his face I was punching instead of my phone.

It’s the final full day of Art Basel, and I’ve made very little headway with Kyle Townsend. After last night’s dinner, I barely saw him. I would’ve sworn I had his attention if someone had asked me. I felt his eyes burrow into the side of my face during my little talk last night at the dinner table.

After serving the main course, more than ten business executives approached me with their business cards. I may drum up some legitimate business for my company, but that’s not what this weekend is about, not in the short-term.

“What’re you looking so down about?” Sharonda asks as she bumps me with her hip.

We’re walking along the beach as the sun starts to set. Shonda has a set to DJ in half an hour.

“Work,” I tell her, sparing the details. I met Sharonda over six years ago. We both were nineteen and living in a homeless shelter in Los Angeles. Soon after we met, Sharonda scored her first DJing gig, and I’d decided that after Brendan Chastain, I wouldn’t scam anyone ever again.

I badly needed the money at that time.

Sharonda thought I was another young girl who moved to L.A. with dreams of making it big. After it didn’t work out, I moved to Williamsport to start my consulting firm. Neither of us would’ve found our way out of our pasts if it weren’t for Ms. Edith, the woman who ran the homeless shelter. She was like a beacon of hope in the days after I left my father’s home once I turned eighteen. She made me want to become better than the life I was raised in.

Two years later, after determining I was done with that life and with my niece in tow, I moved to Williamsport. It was one of the few big cities I’d never lived in with my father. I went to school and started my company there, far from my past. It worked for the past five years, too.

Until Dean Walsh walked into my office.

Bastard.

“I thought you had more work than you knew what to do with,” Shonda says, misunderstanding my comment.

“I do,” I tell her. “That’s part of the problem. Those clients take up so much of my time I haven’t been able to take on as many volunteer hours with Girls on the Move. I hate not being able to help out like I want to.”

Sharonda nods, a small smile creeping onto her face. “Hey, look on the bright side,” she says, using one of Ms. Edith’s favorite lines. “It’s those big bucks you make with those clients that let you send Eve to that fancy boarding school,” she comments.

I nod and smile, grateful that that’s the truth.

“First world problems,” she says with a roll of her eyes. “Remember your L.A. days when you dreamt of getting that big break? Now, you have your own company and more clients than you know what to do with. I’m guessing that means last night went well?”

That question brings back the impromptu speech I gave over dinner and how I almost ran into trouble before our meal was served.

When Jake Albert called Kyle’s name, I recognized his voice immediately. Albert is a close friend of Brendan Chastain’s. I’ve met him a few times, but that was years ago. I’m also pretty sure he was high as hell on cocaine a number of those times. With any luck, he didn’t recognize me.

However, I couldn’t take that chance, so I exited the conversation when Kyle looked away. Thankfully, Jake hadn’t sat at the same table as Kyle and me.

“Yeah, I haven’t done so bad for myself,” I say in response to Shonda’s comment. “Neither have you, party girl. Have an awesome set tonight,” I tell her with a wave as we approach the DJ booth where she’s about to set up.

“Make sure your ass is on the dance floor. It’s your last night in Miami. Live it up!” she orders while putting on her oversized headphones.

I watch her for a beat before I pull out my phone. Part of me wonders if I should head back to my hotel room for the night to give Eve a call. We usually speak daily, but since I’ve been in Miami, we’ve only talked once.

“Hi, Aunt Ry,” Eve answers, sounding sleepy.

“Were you sleeping, Ladybug?” I check my watch to see it’s only a little after eight.

“I fell asleep studying at the library, and the librarian told me to return to my dorm room.”

“After that ninety you got on your history exam, you shouldn’t have to study for another few weeks.”

She snorts. “It should’ve been a hundred.”

My little perfectionist.