Conor’s phone rang, and he pulled it out from his back pocket, hoping that it was Charisse. He clenched his jaw when he saw the name Becca—Elise’s sister. What the fuck? They hadn’t talked since Elise’s will reading when she’d practically accused him of murder.
He wanted to ignore the call. He should ignore the call. He could already feel tension in his head. But she’d just keep calling until she got what she wanted. He answered, “Yeah?”
“What, no ‘hello’?” said Becca.
“We haven’t talked in two years. Why now?”
“I’ve decided you owe me.”
He pictured Becca with her blonde hair pulled back in a tight bun and wearing a skirt and jacket even on a Saturday. She was a ball-buster business woman and never took a break as far as he knew. If she wanted something from him, she was gonna be a bitch until she got it.
“I don’t owe you anything.”
“Even if it were an accident, which I still don’t buy, she never would’ve been out there if you hadn’t built a zip line for her. Her death is your fault.”
The back of his right eye throbbed with the onset of a migraine. Elise’s body crumpled in the snow on the floor of the forest took over his mind. He refused to have this argument again.
“If I could bring your sister back to life, I would’ve done it already,” he growled.
“Well, since you can’t do that, you can help my business life. I’m moving to New York, getting married, and I’m pregnant. I want you to throw me a welcome back party with all of your top business associates before I look like a fucking pimple that needs to pop. And I want it at the mansion.”
The migraine took over his forehead. He hadn’t had a party at the mansion since Elise died, and he liked it that way. But turning Becca down would result in an argument. And if he hung up, she’d call and call.
“I’ll do this, and that’s it. I never want to hear from you again.”
“I’ll decide that after the party.”
The line went dead. He focused on his breathing and tried to wish away the pain in his head. Becca moving to New York was bound to be a disaster for him. Agony consumed his head. He tossed the phone over the back of the seat. “Take me home, Raul. And don’t accept any calls.”
“Yes, sir.”
Evelyn Aster 