T-MINUS 4 DAYS.
Time slithered like a sewer monster.
One day seemed like three winters.
All I wanted to do was claw at the walls that constantly seemed like they were closing in on me. Even with the sudden epiphany to fleece the info out of Celeste Ayi.
(Also, who knew emotions could cloud logic to the point of stupidity? Not my favorite scientific discovery—it didn’t matter if I couldn’t find the damn woman, either.)
I’d spent all of yesterday and this morning tracking her, only for Natalie, of all people, to be the one to strike gold.
“SHE’S FUCKING WHERE?” I roared into my phone, partly to be heard over Natalie’s gum chewing and also because Celeste Ayi would choose the one time I needed her near me to run off to a spa in the furthest place possible.
“Celeste is in Chiang Mai with Constance.” Natalie bore the canned voice of a Kardashian, and I genuinely hoped she became the trillionth sister, so she could fuck off to L.A. and away from me. “It’s a city in Thailand.”
“I know where it is.” I tore my coat from my shoulders, kicking my front door shut like a tractor-sized baby. It seemed suspiciously convenient for Ayi and Mom to be elsewhere as I ramped up my search for Eileen. “What is she doing there?”
“She said she’s meditating.” Something crunched between her teeth. So much for maintaining professionalism.
“She doesn’t meditate.” In fact, my only memories at temple were the days our cook took off, and Mom wanted me to eat there.
“She said you’d say that… And to tell you that she decided to give it a try. That there was no point in staying home, anyway, since she doesn’t celebrate Christmas.”
I flung my shoes off. “When did you talk to her?”
“Hmm.” I could practically envision Natalie twisting an invisible phone cord around her finger as she pondered my question. “Right before I clocked out. Maybe, like, twelve hours ago?”
Right after I cornered one of Eileen’s star-athlete cousins, threatening to inflict damage on his leg that would ruin his Premier League future.
Mom must know I’m seconds from losing my shit.
I stormed upstairs to my bedroom. “And you didn’t tell me?”
“I’m telling you now.”
I squeezed the bridge of my nose. “What hotel is she staying at?”
“I don’t—”
“Yes, you do. Enough with the bullshit. I know she pays you extra to book her personal travel arrangements.”
Natalie groaned. The woman was about as endearing as a head-sized hemorrhoid. “Fine. I’ll send you the hotel link.”
“Get my plane ready. I’m going there.”
It would take about 36 hours roundtrip on my private jet, which would leave me about two days to bargain with her then return to Farrow on time.
Cutting it tight, but it had to happen.
I’d started gathering luggage and the essentials for a speedy trip when I was met with unwelcome silence. My favorite sound, usually.
Unless it was accompanied by the feeling of premature defeat.
I stopped dead in front of my suit rack. “Natalie?”
“Uh…”
“Spit it out.”
“They took your plane.”
“THEY TOOK MY PLANE?”
“Yeah.” At least she had the manners to seem embarrassed by it. “They said you won’t need it.”
“Bold of them to make that assumption.”
I saw right through Mom’s plan. She wanted to ensure I had no way of reaching her, assuming I thought myself to be above commercial flights.
I lowered my phone, shooting a text.
Zach Sun:
Need a plane. ASAP.
Romeo Costa:
Dallas took mine.
Romeo Costa:
She and Frankie are on a cheese-tasting tour in Italy, courtesy of Constance.
Ollie vB:
Someone’s feeling charitable this Christmas…
Ollie vB:
Constance got me tickets to an exclusive sex show in Berlin.
Ollie vB:
Of course, I had to go.
How expectedly thorough of my mother.
A commercial flight would add another two hours each way. Four if it included a short layover.
I raised my phone back to my ear. “Natalie.”
“Yes?”
“Book me a flight to Chiang Mai. The earliest available.”
“On Christmas Day? That’s going to be a mission.” She was already clicking away on her computer. “The earliest one doesn’t have any business seats left. Just economy.”
“Book it.”
An audible gasp penetrated my ear from the other line. Was I really that far removed from general society?
“Are you sure?”
“I am positive,” I answered in the exact same tone.
“Okay. Booking right now.”
“Thank you. Oh, and Natalie?”
“Yes, Mr. Sun?”
“This is your notice that you’ve been fired. Your two weeks start now.”
“You can’t do this to me.” She screeched, not even asking why. Blissfully unaware that she had breezed by the past few weeks, lucky I was too fucked up to remember to fire her.
“I can. You tried to steal my sperm.”
“Unsuccessfull—” But she didn’t get to finish her sentence.
“Merry fucking Christmas. Don’t come back to work.”
