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I try to close the door, but she puts her foot in the way.
“Did you have some heart-to-heart talk with my brother?” she presses.
I shrug, not wanting to give her the satisfaction.
Mom sighs, her shoulders sagging. “Fine, don’t talk to me if you don’t want to. You’re leaving tomorrow, right?”
I sigh. “Yes, Mom.”
“Are you going to say anything to your father before you go?” She’s trying to sound calm, but I can tell Mom is on edge.
I almost say yes. If I do, she’ll cart me off to his office and shut me in so we can talk. I think about how Alex told me to mend things with my dad, but I’m just not ready. Maybe I’ll take my uncle's advice after all, just going a little slower than recommended.
“I’ll text him,” I say. “I still need some time to calm down.”
She wants to argue but holds her tongue. “That’s better than never I guess. Now, give your mother a hug before bedtime.”
It should feel childish, but there is a lot of love in her embrace that she doesn’t show on the outside. I let her hug me close, even though I’m taller than her.
“Just be careful out there, my baby boy,” she murmurs, squeezing me tighter.
“I’ll try,” I tell her honestly. “I’ll really try.”
19
Amsterdam, February 24, 2022
Roxanne
Shufflingpapers on my desk and glancing at the office phone—where the angry red light telling me of the many unheard messages blinks nonstop—I can’t help but miss the old times when I could conquer problems day by day. Instead, I’m stuck in a quagmire of unending nonsense that I can’t seem to escape.
The calls never stop coming in. Nervous clients, nosy tabloid journalists, and a strange influx of women curious about jobs, no doubt because of the ten thousand euros price tag that had been bandied around in the newspapers. I definitely wasn’t hiring anyone, or taking any new clients, either. The agency is for now operating for current clients and escorts only. The potential leaks and problems are too many, and I’m drowning as it is.
I’ve had the same conversation over and over again the past few days, so many times that I could probably recite it in my sleep.
“No, there is no risk of this happening to you or any of my other clients. Yes, this was a case of extenuating circumstances gone awry, and our secrecy and discreteness remain intact.”
If it was any other industry, I’d be worried about losing business, but the desire for sex never wavers. As long as there are men around Amsterdam, there’ll be clients ready and willing to hire my girls, no matter the danger. I don’t want just any men, though. I want the best for my girls—the wealthiest, the safest, and the most respectable that money can buy.
My voicemail box is full, and my email inbox is getting there, if such a thing is even possible. I had been walking the edges of high society my whole career with the brothel, but now that honest-to-God fame was knocking on my door, I wanted nothing to do with it. I just wanted to pull the curtains closed and ignore everything going on around me, but I’m a business owner. I have girls to take care of, and I don’t want my company to go under. It’s not an option.
With a sound like a blaring alarm, the phone rings yet again, startling me into dropping my pen. I’m ready to jerk the cord out of the back of the damned thing when I get the feeling that I should answer this call, even if it’s just to tell the person on the other line to shut the hell up.
I pull the receiver off the cradle in a swift motion. “This is Roxanne.”
“Ah, the beautiful madam Roxanne Feng, answering my calls herself! I feel like a celebrity.”
In no mood to hear the oily voice on the other line, I sneer. “Should I hang up now, Kenneth, or do you have something constructive to say?”
“Wait, wait,” he coos. His voice makes me see red. “I’m not calling to threaten you or anything like that. You’ve been doing a good job of getting yourself into the public eye all on your own. I was just going to offer you an opportunity.”
Despite not liking Kenneth one tiny bit, I'm just too curious to decline. “…Go ahead.”
“Well, I’m sure you know that I’m working on a piece involving Karl Townsend and all of his associated dramatics. From what I understand, he was both a business associate and friend of yours, so would you be interested in giving me a statement? It’d help you get ahead of the public opinion regarding your part in the whole debacle.”
I laugh sardonically. “And here I thought you actually had something good to offer me. No, I’d rather tank my reputation all on my own than have some manipulative gossip columnist twisting my words for his own selfish needs.”
“You know I’m aninvestigative reporter,” he bristles. “This won't just be a single line in a ‘gossip column’ as you put it. This will be paragraphs upon paragraphs about your filthy business and who you associate yourself with.”
