“Her name is—”
“Her name is Poppy Malone to those in the industry.” He cuts me off. “She carries clout, popularity, and desirability around the country. People will come for her. You want her to be Poppy Graham, but I’m building my damn business plan on Poppy fucking Malone.”
A man I’ve never seen appears and I earn new respect for him. “She’ll work her way into Poppy Graham.”
“Probably, but get used to her stage name being our draw.”
“Got it, anything else?”
“Yeah.” He turns to Pierce and Miller. “You in charge of making this perfect?”
“That’s why we’re here,” Pierce answers.
He looks over at me. “This would be better with Poppy’s input.”
“Just give us an idea of what you think. Nothing is final until she agrees.”
“Down here can section into multiple studios. We’ll need a fully-functioning video system for choreography. This wall of windows facing the street would be a perfect place for the lobby. There’s a lot of potential for the upstairs.”
“I’ll take care of the upstairs.”
“Walk us around and explain how you see things, and we’ll get some sketches together,” Miller prompts.
“Okay, let’s start from the back door.” He stops mid-step and looks at me, his face full of approval. “If you pull this off, I take it back.”
With no other explanation, he spins and walks away.
The memory of my wedding night slams into me, and I chuckle, shaking my head. “Nah man, I’ll never be good enough for her.”
I snatch the phone, see the display, and bark out, “Tell me you have news.”
“Someone didn’t get their morning dose of happiness,” Scottie chirps. “I thought you’d be much more chipper.”
“I should be at home with my wife, and instead, I dragged my ass out of bed and was in the office at six a.m. to prepare for whatever clusterfuck is coming my way. Not to mention Marco continues to send me cryptic messages. Do you have news for me?”
The mood through the line shifts. “Unfortunately, I have little. But I can tell you Natasha Bindel left Africa. She’s keeping up the façade on her social media accounts, but our investigator said she flew into JFK two weeks ago. Since then, she’s been quiet. No credit card activity and no calls to her parents or friends.”
“I need that order of protection reinstated.”
“It’s going to be hard to prove your case. We still can’t locate her to serve the papers, and she hasn’t technically proved a threat.”
“Fuck me, Marco’s been hiding this shit.”
“I don’t know about that. Marco didn’t lie to you in Vegas. When he got back to Virginia, he was a changed man. In the public, he spun the story like a pro and kept up the family bond, but behind closed doors, he was vicious. Karen didn’t think he’d go through with the separation and certainly didn’t think he’d give up the chance for a Presidential opportunity. He set her straight. Natasha mistakenly thought she had clout. He stripped her of all responsibility and did it ferociously. Insiders report she begged for a chance to make things better, then she gave him an ultimatum—Poppy or her. He put her ass on a plane. As soon as she left, the truth came out about her tricks and games. Marco finally found out the lengths of her lies and manipulation.”
“What does that mean?”
“Tasha has her own money from years of working, but he’s cut her completely off.”
“You don’t think he knows she is back in the States?”
“He knows. His people knew the minute she landed. But like me, we don’t know where she is or what she’s doing.”
“He should have told me.”
“Possibly, but I’m more worried about how’s she’s living. She’s not using her credit cards, which means she’s found some other form of survival. No one can go weeks without some kind of financial support.”
“Maybe she has friends floating her ass.”
“Possibly, or she’s found a gullible sugar daddy.”
“Evin?” Tessa pokes her head through the door. “Mr. Sanchez is here.” Her use of his formal name is a sign things aren’t right.
“I’ve got to go but will call you later.” I disconnect, stand, and put on my jacket.
Tessa shows him in, and I note his rigid demeanor. He takes my hand firmly, barely looking me in the eye. I motion for him to sit and wait for him to speak.
“Evin, this isn’t easy, but out of respect for our relationship I felt it should be done in person.”
“What should be done?”
“I’m moving my investments and money from this bank.”
I remain straight-faced, showing no emotion. “That’s a big decision, considering you’ve been with us for over a decade.”
“I’ve recently lost faith in the dedication, leadership, and integrity of your team.”
“That doesn’t sound like a disappointment in the bank; it sounds like a personal dig at me and my leadership.”
“Maybe it is. What’s happened to my investments in the last quarter is unacceptable.”
“Would you care to explain?”
He blows out a breath, his arrogance slipping as he leans, placing his elbows on his knees. “I’ve relied on your expertise and opinion because it was well known you were the best. Listen, I’m taking a big leap here, but you need to know your reputation is headed to shit. Ever since you eloped with that performer and decided to spend all your time in Vegas, your business practices have changed.”
Eloped with that performer?
“How have they changed?” My voice scarcely contains the rage at his implication.
“Your availability is limited, your focus is elsewhere, and your clients are suffering. It’s bleeding into my investments and I’ve decided to get out before I lose another million dollars.”
I square my shoulders and spear him with a hard glare. “Now you’re spewing complete fucking bullshit. Nothing about my business practices has changed. And when the hell have you lost a million dollars?”
“I’m not stupid Evin, the statement you sent last week had a significant loss.”
I shove the folder across my desk. “Show me.”
“Don’t insult me.”
“You’re the one insulting me. Show me where the fuck you lost that money under my management.”
He opens the folder, scans over the document, and then looks back at me. “This isn’t what you sent me.”
“Sure as shit is.”
“No, it’s not. Whatever game you’re playing won’t work. I’ve already met with another firm and am ready for the transfer process.”
“Show me the loss.”
He yanks his phone out of his pocket, works the screen, and hands it over. The differences in the statements are noticeable immediately. “The statement isn’t mine. A first-grader could recognize that.”
“This was in your email.”
“It may have been in my email, but it’s not my work. That shit is sloppy. Don’t know how that attached to our correspondence, but I’d be more concerned with my email server than the shit you showed me.”