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Hungry grumbles are unfortunately for both of us interrupted by his vibrating phone. “I need to take this.”
“Puppet Boy?”
“Pham with public relations. She probably wants to run an official statement by me for the press that declares any wrongdoing in regard to my estate staff.”
I nod my understanding and turn to face the aquarium pillar in the center of the bar area.
Technically, he’s not.
Hamilton has proven to be a top-notch doctor, one who had quite an incredible career before becoming the personal concierge doctor to Wes and a pair of unnamed socialite sisters. From what Wes let slip at dinner last night, Hamilton was the only one who listened to his requests about skin graphs and avoiding reconstructive surgeries. He was also the first to recognize the signs of alcohol abuse and suggested to the others to intervene. And while he’s not my favorite – because I think he should’ve taken my mom to the actual hospital forever ago – he’s provided fantastic care.
Constant communication.
Plus, unlike the man who cuts him a monthly check, he’s more open to other possibilities than just the one he has in his head.
He still believes poison is the most likely candidate; however, he’s looking into the theory I brought up, which is all I want.
Someone to really listen to my concerns.
I don’t wanna believe anyone here could or would hurt my mom, but I’m not stupid.
I’m not naïve.
I know people will do dark shit to get whatever it is they want.
Short cons.
Long cons.
Whatever’s convenient or necessary.
It’s why I know trust is hard to come by and not a commodity to be taken lightly.
I just hope this thing with my mom is something else.
Not that.
See, we – her and I – both know how to deal with someone you love or care about betraying you.
Wes doesn’t.
Dad gave me great directional bearings, a die-hard love of geek culture, and the guard yourself at all costs mentality that’s helped me survive more shit than I care to admit.
Wes?
I get the feeling the only tiger sharks he’s had to face are in business.
Never anything personal.
Wes ending the call prompts me to resume my leisurely strolling of the basement area of the entertainment house. “I think I should be allowed to sleep here.” One finger touches the very edge of the nearby tank that’s built into the wall. “At least one night.” Seeing several of the creatures scuttle away causes me to smirk. “I’ve always wanted to do that.”
“Sleep with the fishes?”
“Are you threatening me, Mr. Wilcox?!” I toss him a juvenile finger wag. “That’s very unprofessional.”
“You’re very…” his hand wiggles in the air as he struggles to come up with a rebuttal and answer his phone simultaneously, “unprofessional.” The frown of disappointment that follows is hilarious. “Wilcox.”
Not surprised by the action, I return to admiring the various tanks of the area.
