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“I’ll call it over,” Celia told me. “It’ll be about an hour.”
I put my wallet back in my purse and pulled out my dead phone. “Is there a place I can buy a phone nearby?”
She shrugged. “No idea, dear.”
I stood to leave. “Thank you again, Celia.”
“That’s what we’re here for.”
I turned before reaching the door. “What did she do to deserve that much bail?” I should have said what was sheaccusedof.
“Reckless driving to evade arrest and embezzlement of over a million dollars.” Celia looked over her glasses. “She should have been on a plane straight to Brazil.”
I swallowed hard. Lara worked for us, the family company. If she’d embezzled, it had been from us. But it couldn’t be; that wasn’t Lara. She could be impulsive, self-destructive maybe, but not a thief. None of this made any sense.A million fucking dollars?
I left before I decorated their floor with the vomit I felt threatening.
Leaning against my car outside Three-B Bail Bonds, I worked to keep my roiling stomach under control. In this neighborhood, I’d fit right in if I barfed all over their parking lot, but I was a Rossi, goddammit, and I had to hold it together.
Embezzling from the company—my company, our company? No wonder Uncle Ernst hadn’t wanted to take my calls. It wasn’t about the stupid bank line of credit; it was confronting me about my insistence on hiring Lara. I was walking straight into the shitstorm from hell when I got back to the office.
What a fucking rollercoaster the last few days had been. First, I almost make it to Josh’s table for my first almost-date since Mo, if you could call sharing dessert a date. Then the pool and phone fiasco, followed by getting bumped from my flight back home—only to end up sitting next to Josh on the flight to LAX and sharing a donut, until the plane almost crashed. Which led to Josh saving the day by inviting me for a magical trip on a private jet so I could get home in time for Lara. Now I find out Lara has embezzled from the company?
* * *
Josh
I closedthe door to Dad’s office behind me.
Libby held out a folder. “The Tuscan Foods meeting details. It’s at eleven.”
I took it. “I’ll trade you for a cup of coffee.”
She opened her drawer, pulled out one of the mugs she always had ready, and headed off.
Once at my desk, I opened the folder and started looking through the financials for Tuscan Foods.
They operated a chain of boutique grocery stores, mostly in this area, and a few up around the San Francisco Bay Area, all under the brand name of Rossi’s.
Interesting coincidence: Nicole had said she worked at a family company. Just in case, I flipped to the second page and found the name of the CEO: Ernst Berg, not Rossi.
Libby appeared at my door with my coffee. “Do you want me to pass along your opinion about the flight arrangements?” she asked coolly.
“No.” Bitching about the past never helped with Dad.
She set the mug down on my desk.
“Thanks.”
She turned to leave.
“Libby.”
She stopped at the door.
“Sorry I jumped down your throat about it. I’m tired; it wasn’t a great day.”
“I understand… Open or closed?” She held the door handle.
