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Weaver? Was that Dale’s last name?
I didn’t ask. I was almost free and clear and not a moment too soon.
“I’m sorry to hear that, Mr. Jackson. I’ll arrange for your luggage to be brought down when you’re ready. Will you need me to call a car for you?”
“No need. Gavin’s already cleared the villa and we have transportation arranged.”
I glanced between Cat and Martin unsure what to say. Like last night, Cat looked unconcerned and as sweet as could be.
“It’s been a pleasure, Mr. Jackson. I hope you enjoyed your time in the mansion.”
“George,” Martin called, then came back to me. “You’ve made all the difference, Atlee.”
George came to stand next to me with a thick envelope in his hand.
“That’s for you,” Martin continued.
Shit.
I glanced down at the envelope George was holding out.
“That’s too much, Mr. Jackson. I can’t—”
“It could be all ones.”
His unexpected teasing tone jolted an unwanted laugh out of me.
Shit. Now I was laughing with a sex trafficking scumbag.
Yes, it was time to leave Las Vegas.
With nothing left to do, I took the envelope.
I hoped it was a stack of ones.
“Thank you, Mr. Jackson. I hope you’ll come back and visit us soon.”
Lie.
I hoped I never saw him again.
I turned to leave but Catarina stopped me.
“Atlee?”
Her voice was soft and timid.
A far cry from the real woman I knew.
I glanced over at her and she snuggled into Martin’s side.
“Some men are complicated,” she sweetly told me and Martin put his arm around her. “Maybe with your guy, you need to look a little deeper to the heart of who he truly is before you give up on him.”
“My woman speaks the truth,” Martin said. “Sometimes all it takes is the right woman and we crumble.”
Great, now I was getting relationship advice from a man who sold women for a living.
Yes, the neon was flashing.
