2
Lyla
Forty-eight hours later, I am finally allowed to be escorted out of the Chicago PD. My name is not cleared, and I am not a free citizen, but Detective Graves is honestly trying to help. Even so, my life still feels like it’s over. My one phone call was received by the only person I knew would come save me from this hell I’ve gotten myself into. Bad news is Marcus still lives in California, and that’s a thirty-hour drive, or a sleepless red- eye flight that has my best friend standing at the bottom of the police department stairs. There are puffy dark circles under his brown eyes, and his emerald green dress shirt and black slacks are wrinkled, but as soon as he looks up at me, a smile still manages to stretch across his face. Growing up was a constant hustle for me until I met him, my mom never being a parent always off with a new man at a new bar or passed out drunk in bed nursing a hangover. Our friendship has been the glue that’s held me together and Marcus and Charlie were my entire support team as I put myself through culinary school. Always encouraging me to follow my dream and here he is smiling at me like I didn’t just disappoint him.
I continue down the stairs a little faster. Good thing Graves doesn’t seem to mind. I think he believes I really am innocent now after our very long talk. I was able to give him a few names of men I knew Howard worked with. I’m still not sure if it’s helpful since I was under the impression they weren’t involved in the restaurant at all. Howard took meetings with them there so I had met them and knew their names but that was it. I also gave them my keys to the restaurant in which I was told to not return to. Ever. That one I will be crying about later when I’m alone. Right now, I’m going to hug my best friend. A man who is like a brother to me and the only family I have other than Charlie. Why did I ever leave San Diego?
“Hey, how are you?” Marcus whispers as he wraps his huge arms around me.
“I’m fucking terrible but so happy to see you,” I choke out, squeezing my eyes closed, not wanting to cry stupid tears.
“I can only imagine, babe. Let’s get you home.”
“Funny you should say home since currently I don’t have one.”
“What are you talking about?”
“If you’re referring to the overpriced apartment I used to own downtown, I’m not allowed to ever set foot in it again,” I say, looking up at him with embarrassment and moving out of his arms. “Funny thing about being accused of embezzlement is that I lose abso-fucking-lutley everything. Including but not limited to,” I say, pointing my finger up, continuing to count my misfortune on my fingers, “my car, my apartment, my checking and saving accounts, all the cash that was in my wallet when I was arrested in front of my staff at the Warehouse, and oh yeah, my restaurant.” I check off the last gut-wrenching fact while touching my pinkie.
Marcus just looks at me and runs his big dark hands down his face. “First things first, Lyla; let’s get you out of here, and then we’ll figure everything else out somehow.”
With anyone else I would get defensive and my bitch mode would switch on and I would say how I can do everything myself and don’t need anyone, but this is Marcus and I’ve never felt more lost in my whole life so I just nod my head and get inside the cab as he holds the door for me.
“So, you want to start at the beginning here, babe? ’Cause I just talked to you the other day and you raved about how well everything was going. What changed and what the hell is this embezzlement bullshit?” Marcus says from beside me in the cab, shaking his head.
I start at the beginning and retell him how I met Howard at business convention, we knew a lot of the same people and when I asked around about him he was highly praised for helping other businesses climb the market. Not long after opening night everything was going exactly the way he promised, and I let him take over all the finances without checking on it myself. I trusted him completely and never once looked at the books just kept my nose in the kitchen until I was brought into the station by Chicago’s finest. While my heart bleeds all over the taxi that smells like body odor, we ride around the city not knowing where to go. An hour later, I’m even more exhausted and the cab fare is at $200.
“Can we find a rock for me to crawl under? I’m so tired and overwhelmed right now.”
“Yeah, of course. I would also like the detective’s number and the names you said you gave him. I’ll see what options we have,” he says as he shrugs his shoulders. He looks as tired as I feel, and I’m so grateful he came all this way for me.
“Marcus, thank you so much for being here. I’m really sorry you stopped what I’m sure was important, just to come rescue me. I won’t ever forget it,” I say with tears filling the corners of my eyes. Damn it.
“Well, good thing I meant it when I said call me if you need anything,” he says with a big grin on his face.
“Sir, could you take us to the Marriott downtown, please.”
“Yes! Fuckin finally, bro,” the young driver says, clearly annoyed instead of happy about the high fare. When we arrive, Marcus pays, and we get two rooms. Well, Marcus gets two rooms. I was a five-star chef in one of the biggest cities in the world with a loaded bank account and even a few investments in real estate. I had a plan and life was great. I had everything I ever wanted, and now I have to start all over and be grateful that I’m not behind bars. This isn’t fair. It fucking sucks. But the room is perfect. Cold and dark. I’m so excited I silently hug Marcus and head straight to the bed. What I wouldn’t give to wake up tomorrow and have this whole situation just be some kind of awful nightmare.
“Good night,” I hear as he closes the door.
* * *
“Ugh!What do you want? Leave me be,” I grumble as Marcus swiftly yanks the hotel comforter off. “Oh, you, sir, are an asshole,” I say, pathetically grabbing for the blankets that are now on the floor. It is far too early in the morning and I still have a headache from all the feeling I had to deal with yesterday. Far too much for someone who likes to burry such things and move through life pretending everything’s perfect. Hard to do when someone shatters the glass house and shows the entire world your really just a sad little girl who should never tried to dream.
“Get your ass up. We got a game plan that starts with a four-p.m. flight to your fresh start in sunny San Diego,” he says with a mischievous grin stretched across his handsome face.
“What the actual fuck?” I say skeptically as I fully wake up and sit up.
“You heard me. Your boy saves the day again. I talked to your detective and even had to sign some papers he sent over, but you are officially my bitch and—”
He doesn’t get to finish that sentence before I’m up at his side, punching his shoulders as many times as I can, hoping my repeated hits might hurt a little bit.
“Ow, ow, ow. Okay. Okay. You know I only said that to get you out of bed. You are in no way my bitch, and I love and respect you. I’m also going to take care of you. I did get that old man to let me take you to another state which is huge so he must be building a solid case. Anyway, I’m taking you home, and we will figure this shit out.”
“Eeeeekkkkkk!”I squeal, smiling at my best friend and hero. “Dude, are you serious? Messing with me right now would be considered cruel, you know.”
Before he has a chance to say anything there’s a knock on the door. “Room Service” a man from the other side says.