His dad laughed. “We talked about this before. We will stay and—”
“No, you won’t stay,” Danny said as calmly as he could. “I want you to clean everything out and get out. I’m trying to do this nicely.”
“Daniel—”
“You have until tomorrow,” he said, talking over his dad. “Tomorrow if you’re still there, I’ll call the police. I’d wanted to avoid doing that, but you’ve left me no choice.”
“You can’t call the police,” his dad hissed, obviously trying not to be overheard. “You’ll be just as guilty.”
First goal to Lottie, for calling that his dad wouldn’t care about protecting him. But he’d been thinking about this all day, and he thought he had a decent plan in place. He figured MacNiven and his agency’s PR department would help him spin the story so the truth came out. And if he called the police and had them raid his house, that’d go a long way to showing that he wasn’t involved.
He hoped.
Regardless, he’d handle it. He had to handle it if he wanted to move forward with the things he cared about. “Move out of the house. Take what you want, but this is it. I won’t give you anything more.”
His dad laughed. “We are family. You can’t leave family.”
“Watch me.” He ended the call.
The cab driver looked in the rearview mirror. “You okay, man?”
“I will be.” He slumped back against the seat. Tomorrow he was going to have to call the police regardless, he realized. He hoped Kofi wouldn’t be there, but he knew he had to give up his attachment to that. He’d warned them. As Lottie—and Jules—had said, they were adults. He couldn’t make their decisions for them.
That really sucked.
He closed his eyes and focused on the future and what he wanted instead of the regrets of the past.
* * *
Benington Mayer wasn’t too unlike his rep’s offices. There was the requisite beige, magazines, and potted plants when you walked in. An attractive young woman sat in the front, ready to greet you. There was tasteful abstract art on the walls, with lots of squiggles and splotches of muted colors.
Truthfully, he preferred the Winners Inc. office. It had style.
But he wasn’t here to compare décor. Smiling, he walked up to the receptionist. “I’m here for Jules Emory.”
“Let me see if Ms. Emory is in,” she said, picking up a receiver. “Do you have an appointment?”
“Yes.” It wasn’t a lie. He figured it was an appointment with fate.
“Your name?”
“Danny Gilbert.”
She talked into the receiver, a frown appearing between her eyebrows. She set the phone back down and smiled apologetically. “Ms. Emory isn’t available.”
He nodded. Looking down the hall, he tried to figure out how to play this.
Then inspiration struck. “Is her assistant available? I’d like to reschedule.” He smiled winningly, figuring Jules had to have an assistant.
The girl smiled back. “Yes, I can get Moira for you.”
He tapped his fingers on the high counter, waiting impatiently, knowing Jules was somewhere close. He looked down the hall to see which direction the assistant approached from, in case he needed to barge his way back there.
The woman didn’t look like he’d have expected Jules’ assistant to look. Her hair was a little messy, and her clothes weren’t super put together. But then he saw her eyes—eyes that saw everything—and he knew why Jules had her.
He extended his hand to her. “Moira, my name is Danny Gilbert. I’m here to see Jules.”
She took his hand slowly. “Jules?”