“It’s not killing me,” I say again. “I can easily go without answering it.”
Banks and Sulli watch as I let the call ring out in the next three seconds.
“See?” Though, on instinct, I pull out the phone to see which call I missed.
Fuck.
I need to call them back. Like now. When I look up, they both can read my expression too well.
Banks is near laughter.
“You were saying?” Sulli jokes, her smile peeking.
I smile, then glance at Banks and laugh. I shove his arm. He tries to capture my phone and toss it in the trash. We side-arm wrestle, shoving more, grunting, and then with one hand to his chest, I hold the cell behind my back.
“I love you, Banks, but you trash this, you die.”
He laughs lightly at my glare. I can skewer men with one look, but Banks—Banks never takes them to heart. It should piss me off, but I usually end up smiling. He has a way of making the absolute worst days somehow full of life, and I love him for that.
“Screw you,” I say at his laugh.
“Hey, hey, hey, you’re the one who threw my cigarettes out. I should file a workplace complaint.” He’s full of shit.
I push my hair out of my eyes. “Take it up with HR.”
“Who is?”
“Your brother.”
He rolls his eyes in a groan because if anyone would’ve trashed his cigarettes besides me, it’d be Thatcher.
I look for Sulli.
She’s watching us, and her smile…it’s completely vanished. Like we left her out of our exchange. Forgot her. Not possible. “Hey, string bean—”
“I’m going to get some snacks,” she cuts me off and jabs a thumb to the gas station. Turning on her heels, she walks away from us.
I shoot Banks a look like guard her. He doesn’t need the instruction—he’s already following her footsteps—but I always feel better giving it.
As he passes, Banks nods to me, then catches up to Sulli. He opens the door for our client. Leading her into the store. I needed a second bodyguard on this trip for times like this, and I could have picked anyone. Even a temp. Shit, it might have even made more sense to choose Farrow since he has a medical background. But the idea of spending hours upon hours in a car with Farrow sounded less than appealing. I enjoy Banks’ company the most, and I trust him to protect her.
It was an easy decision. Probably easier than the phone call I’m about to return.
More tensed, I walk to the edge of the poorly paved road. Cool wind blows long grass stalks, and I unclench my fist where my phone lies. The missed call stares back at me.
Michael Moretti.
Fathers.
This one is Banks’.
He’s supposed to be flying into Philly tomorrow, and with his unexpected call, I’m afraid he’s bailing on me. I’m the one who offered Michael a position in Kitsuwon Securities. When he finally took me up on it, I was relieved.
Michael left training Navy SEAL recruits in Coronado to help me train temp guards for my start-up security firm. Banks thought his dad would never leave his cushy military job for private security.
I feel indebted already.
Even if I do know the main reason Michael Moretti took the job offer was for the pay. I doubled what he made in Coronado, and the raise motivated him enough to make the jump.
What if he is quitting before he’s even started? Banks kept telling me his dad has more bad blood over here than the west coast. He burned every bridge with his family, and it’d take “an unholy fleet of effort” to permanently pull him back here. Those were Banks’ words, at least.
If Michael does actually fly to Philly tomorrow and join my company, it’s going to be a double-edged sword. Positive: I now have the best guy around to train temps. No more taking my full-time guys off their clients to put in those hours.
Negative: I will have proven Banks wrong.
That his dad did come back for more than just Jane & Thatcher’s engagement party. He’d be in Philly permanently. Because I asked. Because I paid him a shit ton of money. And I know it’s going to wound my friend. I don’t like choosing my company over my friendships, especially the ones I have with Thatcher and Banks. But this is different.
Since the moment I created Kitsuwon Securities, I’ve been pushed into a corner, and I need to stop feeling like I’m five-steps behind Price Kepler’s Triple