Arianne Leigh. Somehow, she’d named the baby he didn’t know about after him. And his mother. Lianne. And Arnie.
The contents of his stomach moved. He vomited into a trash can Stan had at the ready. When he was literally on his knees and completely empty, Arnie struggled back into the chair and hung his head.
“Is there more?” he croaked.
Silence answered his question.
Fear grabbed him by the balls. “Is the baby okay? What about Summer? Are they okay?”
“By all accounts, healthy.”
There was another silent pause.
“For fuck’s sake, just finish it.”
The lawyer cleared his throat. “Right before the child was born, Giselle installed lookers nearby. Neighbors. That’s when I stepped away, and I believe this was right around the time Dr. Welcher enters the picture.”
“September,” his dad muttered.
“Lookers,” Arnie growled. “What the fuck does that mean?”
More silence.
“So help me god, Wells, I will rip your fucking throat out if you don’t tell me the goddamn truth.”
“Since Miss Warren wouldn’t hand the baby over for money, Giselle planned to snatch it. Controlling the great-grandchild of Darnell Senior was her chip in the game. When I found out what she was up to, I confronted her. She’s insane. Completely off her rocker. She’s got some crazy scheme to traffic the child. I can’t stop her because she won’t listen to sense. So I went to Mr. Stanford and told him what she was up to.”
Stan asked, “How did you find out?”
Wells snickered. “She’s cluelessly paying for the scheme through her personal checking. The accountant alerted me to unusual activity, and it wasn’t hard to figure it out from there. Plus, she confessed everything.”
Arnie’s jaw hit the floor. The evil cunt who had made his younger days a living hell not only knew he had a child but the lunatic also had the motherfucking cojones to try to harm the family he didn’t know about but would protect with his dying breath.
“Where is she?” Arnie yelled. “Bring that bitch to me, right now. She has no idea what kind of hurt she’s about to experience.”
A terrible stillness claimed him. Terrible because it came with a ruby red haze of seething hatred. Making an enemy of him was a bad move. A very bad move.
People were talking, but he was down the rabbit hole planning Giselle’s destruction and wasn’t aware of what was said.
He wanted to wrap his fingers around her throat and feel her last breath, but he couldn’t—wouldn’t—for three reasons. Stan, Summer, and Arianne.
Lifting his chin as a twinge in his neck zapped his shoulder, he ignored the heated conversation happening ten feet away and focused on managing the murderous anger overtaking his thoughts.
He couldn’t kill the woman, but he was sure there was someone, somewhere in the vast repertoire of individuals he knew over the years who’d have no problem taking her out.
Priorities, dude.
What was he doing? Summer and his daughter were out there, unprotected and in danger. Fuck Giselle. She’d get hers in due time. He had to get on a plane for California. Where was she? North Hollywood?
“I gotta go,” he barked out of the blue and blindly staggered for the door.
His father said something, but he wasn’t listening. Then Stan grabbed him by the belt, steering him to the suite’s sofa. In the time it took to blink, an ice-cold martini was in his hand. He downed it in two mouthfuls.
Loosening his already loosened tie, Arnie held up the martini glass and waved it in Stan’s face. “Hit me.”
He slowed down with the next drink. Taking a hearty slurp, he studied Bruce Wells. He wasn’t sure whether he wanted to smack the shit out of him or buy him a sports car to express his undying gratitude. Going against Giselle to do the right thing took guts.
Wells was talking to Arnie’s dad. The discussion looked serious.
From an ignored welcome basket, Stan handed him a pack of cookies. With a nudge, he muttered, “Eat this.”
Chocolate chip cookies and vodka. Olives on the side. Yum.
More alcohol was consumed along with a two pack of Slim Jims he shared with Stan. The whole time his brother kept the drinks coming, Arnie watched his dad and the lawyer. He wasn’t sure what he was seeing, but it sure was interesting.
When the bottle of Grey Goose was more than half gone, Wells scurried away.
Words came from his dad’s mouth, but Arnie had trouble deciphering their meaning.