Page 114 of Play Dirty

I laugh. “You may not have a choice. I’m going to call some friends but it’ll take at least thirty minutes for anyone to get here.”

She narrows her eyes. “Thirty minutes, Marty. Not a second more or I start charging my regular legal fee.”

“I’m on it.” I pull out my phone and text Saylor. If she and Ally are coming to the game, I’m golden. If not, I’ve just hired the world’s most expensive babysitter.

It doesn’t matter, though.

I have to find Stevie.

Talk to her.

Figure out what’s going on with her.

With us.

I don’t know why she did this for me, but I intend to find out.

Chapter36

Stevie

When Madame Bertrandfound out why I had to be back in New York for an indeterminate period of time, she flew me there on her private jet. And joined me.

“Don’t worry, darling,” she says in her lilting accent. “We will face this together. He is but a small, insignificant little man.”

I give her a shaky smile. “Thank you for coming with me.”

We’re on our way to the courthouse and I didn’t sleep at all last night.

My stomach has been threatening to revolt all morning and the thought of sitting on the stand and reliving all the horror of that day threatens to send me spiraling into a vortex of shame, anxiety, and embarrassment. I’ve finally gotten some semblance of my life together—professionally at the very least—and this is going to be a huge step backward.

I talked to my therapist twice yesterday, and Chey, Saylor, and Effie, are all meeting me at the courthouse. Along with Marcie and Cassius, Alexa Humboldt, and even my sister flew in. I didn’t even ask her to, she simply sent me a text and said she wanted to be here for me.

Madame Bertrand and I are in a limo, and I cringe when I see hundreds of reporters outside the courthouse as we pull up.

“It will be okay,cherie,” she says, softly squeezing my hand. “Also, I have a surprise for you.”

Cherie. Dear.

The way she talks is enchanting, and I’m usually charmed.

Unfortunately, today I’m afraid I’m going to puke.

“Surprise?” I ask in a halting voice, hands on my stomach.

“Yes, yes. Be patient.”

The limo slows to a stop and the private security I hired jumps out of the SUV that followed us. I wait until they open my door, then I force my legs to move.

These guys are part of the security company Saylor uses, and she asked them to come to New York specifically for the trial.For me.

“Breathe,” says the bigger guy, who’s at least six five and goes by the name of Grim. It’s a nickname—his real name is Landon Grimshaw—but most days I get a kick out of calling him Grim.

“Out of the way, please.” The other guy—who’s six three and built like the broad side of a mountain—is named Rage. Elliott Rageis spent a lot of time at the gallery earlier this year when Saylor had a stalker, so we’re friendly, and I’m grateful they both came to help me today.

Reporters immediately start shouting questions at me, but I keep my head down and walk past them. We get through security, and I see my attorney, Lorna Dobson, motioning to me. There’s a woman with her that I don’t know, and Lorna quickly introduces us.

“Stevie, this is Madeline Aronson.”

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