Under Contract (The GEG Series) (24 page)

“I’m sure there will be.” I pat her back and head out the door.

9:35 p.m.

I stare at the screen of my laptop. Yup, it’s still there—$478,533.22. In two more weeks that number will jump by a quarter of a million. I grab my cell to text CiCi.

Mitch has confirmed.

My pussy is platinum.

My laptop starts singing to me.
Crap.
I ignore the incoming Skype call. After a few minutes, my phone pings. I shouldn’t look, but I do.

Get to your laptop, baby.

I want to see you!

No.

Why?

I don’t bother with a reply because, well, when you have nothing nice to say ...

Please
:|

My Skype starts going off again.

Answer it!

I get offline.

I’ll see you in two weeks, Mitch.

And with that, I turn my phone off. But then my house phone rings. Of course. Why wouldn’t it? I sigh audibly and pick up.

“Charlotte?”

I can hear him clench his teeth, and I wonder how that’s even possible.

“Mitchell,” I reply coolly.

“So, you want to play a game now?”

I can tell he’s straining terribly to keep his voice level.

“Sure, let’s play phone Monopoly!” I unleash my inner smartass.

“What?”

“Yeah, it’s real simple! You monopolize our phone conversation, and I pretend to listen while painting my nails.” I can’t be too sure, but it sounds like I hit the steam-release button on Mitch.

“Charlotte,” he says after a moment or two.
Damn him and his sexy voice!
“Be careful, baby. You don’t have a Get Out of Jail Free card.”

“Don’t I?” I challenge him.

“No. You don’t.” His calm and sexy voice is now actually freaking me out a bit. “Now get on your computer so I can see your pretty face.”

“Mitch, I’m hanging up now. If you call back tonight, I will just turn all the ringers off, so don’t bother. I will see you in two weeks,” I say with strength and confidence.

“Charlotte, you are about to make a very bad decision. I’m giving you one last chance to do as I say like you’re supposed to, or there will be consequences,” he states clearly and slowly, like he’s talking me off a ledge.

“Good night.” I sigh and hang up. I can’t believe him! He honestly thinks that after everything that’s happened, he can go back to the way he behaved our first night. Hell no! He can try it all he wants, but it’s not going to work. Our relationship has morphed into something completely different than what we planned on that first night.

I wait a few minutes. Sure that he’s accepted my threat regarding the ringers, I finally settle into bed. Not that I’ll sleep or anything!

Three days later…

“What are you talking about?” I snap at the guy on the phone.

“Your card has been declined,” the guy from the mortgage company repeats.

“No way!” I yell and pull up my bank account. $1,118.55. My heart sinks. “I’ll have to call you back,” I say.

“Okay, ma’am,” he says, and I hang up.

I scroll down.
Transfer $475,000.00 July 1, 2013.
Gone. He took everything but the first month’s originally agreed-upon payment.

Deep breath.

Exhale.

Deep breath.

Exh ... oh, fuck this shit!

My fingers fly across my phone’s keyboard.

Sometimes I really hate being right!

You owe me half a month!

So ... back to work!!

Thanks for “breaking me in,” Mitch! :) Have a nice life!

I hit “send” then proceed to wipe the snot away from my nose.

Ugly cry.

Ugly, messy, disgusting cry.

Fuck you, Mitch!

Yup, looking down at my phone in the middle of this meeting was a big mistake. The very same meeting in which we’re having a tough time closing the deal.

Her entire message silently screams at me, and my stomach twists. If I don’t leave this room now, I may lose my lunch—followed by my reputation.

“Kyle!” I stand up. Everyone gives me their undivided attention. “Pack it up,” I say. He stares at me, dumbfounded. “Gentlemen, we’re not going to waste any more of our time, or yours.” I look around at the five of them. “We have gone over this line several times. No one else has what we are offering. Mentioning these other companies in comparison is a great tactic. That is, of course, if a single one of them was worth comparing to us, which none is. They do not have anything similar to our product, nor our commercial standing. They most certainly are not in the position to walk out the door when a meeting is clearly wasting their time and money. However, we are, gentlemen.” I throw my stuff into my briefcase. “You have twenty-four hours to decide, or the deal comes off the table.” I close my briefcase. “Kyle.” I nod.

“You have our number,” he says. “Have a good day.” He follows my lead out the door. “What the fuck?” he asks, following it up with a surprised laugh when we get to the elevator.

“Get the jet ready,” I say before I connect to Mr. Wilson.

“Where are we going?” He pulls his phone up to his ear.

“Home. I just lost Charlotte. I, uh ... fucked up big time.”
Man, did I fuck up!
“Wilson!” I snap before he finishes his name.

“Mr. Colton!” He greets me in his creepy-enthusiastic way and I suddenly feel like I’ve dropped my bar of soap in the jail shower.

“I need you to transfer that money back, please. Immediately!” I try to keep my voice down, but am not too successful.

“Uh ... um ... Mr. Colton,” he stammers.

“Now, Wilson, or I will pull every cent from your bank!”

“Uh, yes, sir ... it’s ... it’s done,” he says nervously.

“Good.” I say and hang up.

“So ... what happened?” Kyle smirks.
Him and his fucking smirking!

“I tried to rule her with an iron fist.” I pace.
It worked in the bedroom ...

“And?”

“She beat me over the head with it.” I lean back against the elevator wall and close my eyes.

“You are going to make me best man, right?” He laughs.

“If she doesn’t make you a pallbearer first.” I open an eye. “Faaaaccck!” I yell and pound my fist against the wall.

The doors open and my phone hits my ear again. This time, my assistant is on the other end. “Erica, gather all of our things and meet us at the airport. We’re flying home.”

“But, Mr. Colton—” she starts.

“Cancel all of it. I have a family emergency. Kyle does too.”

“You both have an emergency?” she asks, sounding confused.

“Just do as I say, please.” I hang up. “Kyle, wipe that effin’ grin off your face!” I yell as we get in the car. “Should I call her? Do I text her? Do I just show up? What do I do?” I glance back and forth between him and my phone.

“Hell if I know!” He shrugs, leans back into his seat, and closes his eyes. A few moments of silence pass before a slow smirk comes across his face. “Maybe you should pass her a note during study hall,” he practically mumbles.

“It took you that long to think of that, asshole?” I fight the urge to whack his leg with my knee in order to not prove his point. He just chuckles ... him and that smirk. I’d like to wipe it off his face.

I hop out of the limo as soon as we hit the airport. Erica jumps off the courtesy golf cart that has our luggage piled high in the back.

“I want a goddamn raise!” she snaps, walking past me.

“Done.” I nod, a little shocked at her aggressiveness. I turn to Kyle. “So, did everyone in the company gain a new set of balls this past month?”

“Apparently,” he answers, just as awestruck. We all climb onto the plane and settle in. I give Charlotte a quick text before the wheels go up.

I fixed it, baby.

And ...

I’m going to fix us, too!

With that, I turn my phone off and begin working on my game plan. I hope I come up with a solid one in the next several hours.

Crap! In five ... four ... three ... two ... one.

“What the fuck’s going on with you?” CiCi bellows as she barges into my bedroom. “You haven’t picked up the damn phone all day and you had Mom call me to take the dogs? I sat on the fucking phone with her for a goddamn hour listening to her conjure up every goddamn ailment known to man to diagnose you with! Your fucking fingers broken—you couldn’t call me yourself?” She plops onto my bed.

I raise my left hand up in the air and flip her off. “Nope ... still workin’!” I inform her.

“Charley, what’s going on?” She pushes at my shoulder. I sigh and turn to her—better to get this over with quickly. “Hmm ... red, puffy eyes and nose, a mountain of old used tissues, favorite ugly-ass comfy pajamas, and shipping kids and dogs off to somewhere else for the night,” she says and taps her lips with her index finger. “It seems to me that you’ve come down with a case of ‘Mitch is a motherfucking dickhead who should have his balls cut off and fed to him.’ Am I right?” she asks. Her eyes are wide—ready to strike. It’s moments like these when I thank God this crazy bitch is on my side!