The Set Up (70 page)

Five minutes later, the nurse leads me to the doctor’s office.

“Have a seat,” he gestures to the chair in front of his desk.

I do.

“Normally, we like to x-ray any limb that suffered a trauma just to be certain there is no bone damage or any hairline fractures still unhealed.”

I twist my little diamond earring around my lobe. “Oh yes, the nurse had said you’d do an x-ray after the cast was removed.”

He clears his throat. “Charlotte, it’s not often that as an orthopedist I deliver news like this, but because you are pregnant, we won’t be able to take that x-ray.”

“No, no, I’m not pregnant,” I laugh.

He pushes back in his chair. “Well, the urine test indicates you are. Of course, you should follow up with an OBGYN to confirm, and if our test was incorrect, come back and we’ll be happy to do that x-ray.”

The room is spinning.

I take a deep breath and close my eyes, touch my fingers to my stomach, imaging a tiny life growing inside me.

My world is turning.

This can’t be happening.

I’m no longer breathing.

I’m not ready for something like this.

I feel sick—again.

Jasper isn’t ready for something like this.

I’m still not breathing.

Oh my God!

I can’t be pregnant.

YIELD

Jasper

OF ALL THE
words to describe LA, swanky is the first that comes to mind. So it is little wonder that I do a double-take when Will drives up to the offices of Waters, Parks, Winters, and Pearl.

Housed in what has to be a former warehouse, the outside leaves much to be desired.

Tired and irritable, I turn to Will. “I’m all for not judging a book by its cover, but are you sure we’re in the right place?”

Will pushes his sunglasses up and pulls the rented Jeep Cherokee into one of the dozens of open parking places.

I’m riding shotgun, but Will insisted on taking care of the directions himself.

Whatever.

Once in park, he looks again at the address Whitney had texted him and compares it to the one entered in the GPS. As if he too is uncertain, he scans the building and then points to the obscured sign. “This is it.”

With a shake of my head, I rub my hands down the black slacks that Will insisted I wear, and smooth the buttons of my white shirt, that he also insisted I wear.

Turning, I give Drew and Jake a quick glance. Jake hasn’t said more than five words since we sobered him up and told him about the statement we believe came from his father, who Will discovered through some research on the airplane still lives in Las Vegas, Nevada. “You cool?” I ask him.

A nod.

I didn’t expect more.

There are no placards in the lobby that point to specific offices. It is the kind of building where to get around, you have to know your way around.

Don’t judge
, I remind myself.

Drew punches the elevator button harder than he needs to. Inside, floor two is marked reception and the others aren’t marked at all. Drew gives two an equally hard jab, and then looks to Will. “We have five choices here, so I thought I’d start at the most likely place.”

Jake lets out a small laugh.

Surprised, I look over at him. He’s freshly showered, and he smells so much better. He’s also dressed, but I think he forgot to use a comb. That blond hair on his head is still a fucking disaster. It’s sticking up everywhere, and when he talks it moves with him. “I can’t believe we haul our asses all the way to California and end up at a fucking old tire warehouse.”

“How do you know this used to be a tire warehouse?” Drew asks.

“The Michelin named carved in the brick outside was my first clue.”

I raise a brow. “Wow, man, good catch for someone who’s half dead.”

He grins at me. The first since last night, but I don’t miss the way his muscles bunch in his shoulders; his entire being radiates with hostility about why we’re here.

Good reason too.

The door opens and he bangs the wall, all wound up and fucking on edge. Tension noticeably emanates from him. And perhaps a little over anxious, he’s the first to stride out of the elevator.

“Holy fuck! What is this place?” he sneers.

With my stomach twisting in about twenty knots, the only response to repeat what Jake just said. “Holy fuck!”

Drew’s jaw drops. “Where the fuck are we?”

Will brings his fingers to the tip of his nose. I can tell the stress is hitting him hard too.

“May I help you?”

Too busy focusing on the gleaming white floors, the pool tables, the television screens with pictures of fish on them, and the pinball machines in the back of the room, I never even noticed the reception desk.

Will beelines for it. “Hi, I’m Will Fleming. We have a twelve o’clock with Brad Pearl.”

She glances at her computer screen. “Oh, yes, Mr. Fleming. Give me one minute.”

The woman behind the desk is dressed professionally in a blouse and skirt with her hair pulled back, which doesn’t match the recreation center atmosphere—at all.

Jake and Drew are still trying to understand what they are looking at.

I’ve given up.

The receptionist hangs up the phone and looks up. “Mr. Pearl will see you now. He’s on the 5
th
floor to the right.

Will thumps the desk. “Thank you.”

This time in the elevator, Jake pounces on the number pad.

Averting his gaze to the floor, Jake grasps the bar behind him, seemingly contemplating something. “If we can’t stop him from making that statement, I’m resigning effective immediately.”

I edge forward. All too familiar with the martyr role, having lived it my whole life. Every step is calculated. My
fuck this
attitude somehow lost over the past weeks, I approach with sympathy and understanding.

The door dings and before Jake can bolt out, I grab his shoulder. His eyes meet mine, as if bracing himself for the spew of shit that would normally come from my mouth.

That’s not what he gets.

“Jake, my brother, we’re in this together. If the ship goes down, we all go. I think I speak for all of us when I say if we aren’t in this together, I’m not interested in being in it at all.”

Silence fills the space.

And then Will clears his throat as if emotion is clogging it. “I couldn’t have said it better.”

Drew puts his hand in the middle of the small space. I cover it. Will follows. Jake is the last to join us. “All for one, and one for all—that’s how we roll,” Drew chants.

The door starts to close and this time I let Jake lunge for it.

“You must be the men from Lightning Motors,” a voice booms.

We all turn to see a very tall, very distinguished looking gray-haired man waiting for us. “Yes,” Will answers extending his hand. “I’m Will Fleming, we spoke earlier.”

“Nice to meet you.”

In tandem we all extend our hands.

“Jasper Storm.”

“Drew Kates.”

“Jake Crown.”

“It’s nice to meet you boys. We have a lot of work ahead of us, so what do you say we get started?”

His office is decked out to the nines. Huge, spacious, couch, bar, three televisions, and a conference table. “Have a seat,” he says, motioning toward the sitting area where a black leather couch and two chairs are located.

Like a bunch of chumps, we all sit on the long sofa. Brad sits in the cushioned chair near an intercom. He presses it. “Sally?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Would you be a doll and bring us some beverages?”

Still feeling nervous, I rub my hands on my pants again. “You have a nice place here.”

A humidor is beside him and he removes a cigar. “Anyone?”

Again, a bunch of chumps acting like we’re in the principal’s office, we shake our heads no.

He doesn’t light it, but chews on it. “Yes, my partners and I have worked hard to create an atmosphere that allows our clients to de-stress. They are often dealing in highly volatile situations and often spend long hours waiting for answers. The lobby is a place they can wait, and hopefully relax, if only for an hour or two.”

“Interesting concept,” Will comments.

“It works,” he says around his cigar. “So, I’m going to get right down to it. If everything you told me is true, we have a simple case of intent to commit malice. I’m suggesting, due to time constraints, we hit him straight on and have a gag order served today. I already had one drawn up.”

“What exactly is a gag order?” Jake asks.

“It’s a legal document prohibiting Nicholas Crown from committing malice with ill intent against Lightning Motors.”

Jake shivers. “How is that going to stop him, though?”

“It’s pretty detailed, but basically it lays out the consequences of committing irreparable damage.”

The door opens and a woman close to Brad’s age comes in with a tray of tumblers, a bucket of ice, and a bottle of scotch. She pours five of them and hands us each one. I take it without a second thought. Jake declines, looking a little pale just seeing the liquid sloshing in the glasses. Will shakes his head informing us all he is driving. At least Drew and Brad join me.

With his drink in one hand and cigar in the other, Brad takes the time to go over every line of the document on the table in front of him. An hour later, we’re still talking and Brad looks at his watch. “If we are going to have my guy over at county clerk of Nevada deliver this summons today, I have to call it in.”

“What if Nick’s not there?” Jake chokes on his father’s name.

“My guy will find him. For what I pay him, he’ll cross state lines or jump in the middle of a cockfight. Whatever it takes.”

“What if I want to be there when he does?”

All of us dart our gazes to Jake.

“Man, let’s talk about this,” I say.

Jake ignores me and looks at Brad. “What will it take?”

Biting on the cigar, he pretends to breathe in. “Besides cash, you getting your ass in a car and getting to Vegas. I can have my guy locate Nick and be waiting for you.”

“Do it,” Jake says without taking his eyes off Brad.

In stunned silence, we say nothing.

After a round of goodbyes, we take the elevator down to the lobby.

The place makes a fuckload of sense now.

“Drop me off at the car rental place,” Jake directs Will as we get in the Jeep.

As if in practiced unison, the three of us say, “Fuck that, we’re going with you.”