Page 3 of Cameron's Contract
“WHERE THE HELL are you?” Henry’s gruff voice boomed through my phone.
Through force of habit, Shay placed his hand on the BMW’s hood to feel for warmth.
“Henry, where are you?” I said.
“On the plane. You?”
“An hour away.”
“Where are you?”
If I told him downtown L.A., he’d know I was close. “Can I call you back?”
My gaze swept the small homes overshadowed by office buildings. City Hall loomed in view.
“You’re not doing this, Cam.”
“Doing what?”
“I know your feelings about Cole Tea—”
“I’m right behind you.”
Shay gestured for me to cut the call.
“Get to New York,” I said. “I’ll catch the next flight.”
“What’s going on?”
“I have to go—”
“Cameron, it looks bad.”
I followed Shay down a pathway between two houses. “Don’t lose hope, Henry.”
The phone became muffled and I heard him talking to the pilot. My heart sunk with the realization I was letting Henry down, letting them all down.
I should’ve been on that flight.
“Henry, I’m as devastated as you about the business.”
“Actions speak louder, Cam.”
My grip tightened around my phone. “Cover for me.”
A long silence fueled the tension.
“Henry?”
“I’ve got your back.”
“I’ll make it up to you.”
I glanced left and right, flanked between two tall, rundown wooden fences.
“The stewardess is giving me the stink eye.” He killed the call.
My feet melted into the asphalt. The air thick and the threat of rain suffocated in this muggy heat. Many of the homes had bars on the windows, which didn’t bode well. Several streetlights were out.
