Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 81767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
7PM at the dock. Seattle side.
Which dock?
Clearly, it’s a place they’ve met before, and I text Jasper to find out from James what dock he’s been to.
I consider heading there myself once we find out, but I don’t think I can make it. I glance at the clock next to my monitor. Fiora agreed to meet Marco tonight at 6PM after he gets off work, and like hell I’m going to let her go alone. I meant it when I said no one fucks with what’s mine, and Fiora Godwin is mine is every single way. I said I’d let her handle it, but if Marco dares to touch one hair on her head, he won’t have any hands left to do it again.
After a quick call, a few of my men head out to all the Seattle docks to keep an eye on them since I have no real idea which one this man is talking about. The rest of my afternoon is spent on the phone with vendors, designers, and partners for this damn hotel. It will be a ton of revenue, but it’s a fucking headache to sort out. If the next year and a half are like this, I’m going to need a lot of whisky.
My phone rings just after five, and I curse when I see the name. The foreman down at the parking garage. With everything going on, I haven’t been able to make a visit to check on progress. I trusted him to get that old building demolished, but if he’s calling me, it’s not good news.
“Braken Frost.”
“Mr. Frost, hi, this is Chuck from Lavore Construction. Sorry to bug you, but we have a little problem down here at the site.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose to keep calm. “What problem exactly?”
“Well, we got a call and uh, apparently there’s a gas leak in the lot over? And they gotta turn off the grid for the weekend ’cause they can’t get out till Monday.”
After all the delays and red tape, I should have expected some bullshit like this. A gas leak? There isn’t even any electricity or gas hooked up to that building anymore. But Chuck has been my go-to construction man for years now, building the last three of my hotels. He’s as no-bullshit and strait-laced as they come. He won’t lie to me.
“I haven’t gotten a call,” I deadpan.
“They said they’d call in a bit.”
Not even two seconds later, my secretary knocks on the door to tell me I have an important call from the gas company. Just great. Another headache to deal with. I tell her I’ll call them back and glance at the clock. I need to leave if I’m going to watch over Fiora. They’re meeting at a fucking Denny’s, of all places, one that’s right down the street from the precinct. But that also means it’s right downtown, and I’m going to be stuck in traffic if I don’t go now.
I pinch the bridge of my nose again before sighing. What’s another fucking day or two?
“I’ll deal with the gas company. Go home for the day. But make sure you’re there right at seven Monday morning. I will be there myself to check. I won’t accept any further delays.”
“Sure, okay, but uhh…”
“You’ll be paid for the time.”
“Right, of course, Mr. Frost, thank you,” Chuck rushes to say. “I’ll tell the guys and we’ll be back bright and early. Have a good weekend.”
I hang up the phone without giving an answer and grab my jacket.
Time to deal with a second headache.
Fiora stands in the parking lot of Denny’s, glancing back and forth as she waits.
It’s just after six, and there’s still no sign of Marco. Traffic was a bitch, but Jasper pulled the car into the lot a few minutes before the hour. Fiora hasn’t noticed my car, and I stay out of her way. I trust her to do what she must, but the gun on my hip has other plans should shit go south.
Marco pulls up in his rundown Toyota a bit later, not even bothering to park. He idles by the front door, hopping out so he can throw himself at Fiora and wrap her in a hug. Even from my vantage point, I can tell she’s not too thrilled. I exhale through my nose, keeping an eye on the two of them. Why hasn’t he parked?
A beep sounds from my pocket, and I pull out my phone. But it isn’t my regular phone. My burner phone has a simple message from Nexxor.
His phone’s been on a while. Call so I can trace him?
Easy enough. I fish out James’s phone and dial Mr. Silk, letting it ring a few times before it sends me to voicemail. I try again immediately, but it’s the same deal.