Page 116 of Trailer Park Billionaire
Alexei doesn’t move. Just shifts his jaw like he’s grinding his own teeth. “Right now? Well, right now is… not a good time. Maybe later.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I huff, exasperated.
He glances at his watch like it might save him, the sky outside dimming, the edges of evening curling around us, the building casting long, tired shadows.
“Let me take you to dinner,” Alex says instead. “I’m guessing you haven’t eaten today.”
I shake my head. “Not hungry.”
“Drinks, then? You’re good at drinking.”
I level a look at him.What’s he doing?“Are you seriously trying to get me drunk before I get to talk to Mr. Saint Clair. You know I might end up stabbing him then, right?”
Alexei winces. “Yeah, okay. Fair.”
I narrow my eyes. “What’s going on, Alex?”
“Nothing,” he says too quickly and three octaves too high.
Something fishy is going on.
“Alexandre!” I warn.
He opens his mouth. Closes it. Then scratches the back of his neck with the same hand that’s holding the creepy sun drawing.
“You’re stalling,” I say. “Which means something’s going on.”
He shakes his head like a kid caught in a lie. I take a step closer.
Alex exhales. “Okay, okay, fine. But I’m not supposed to tell you.”
I step even closer. “Tell me what?”
He hesitates again. Then reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a folded envelope. My name is written on the front in Ben’s handwriting. “He made me promise to give this to you,” Alexei says, his voice careful. “But, technically, I’m not supposed to hand it over until he’s done. Until it’s… over.”
I stare at it like it’s something that might explode. “Until what is over?”
40
BEN
Helena,
If you’re reading this, then it’s over.
Not just the job. Not just the plan. Everything.
The lies. The pretending. The damage I did—some of it without knowing, most of it while trying not to look too closely.
I don’t expect you to forgive me. I don’t even expect you to finish reading this.
But I need to say it anyway. Because I owe you the truth. All of it. For once in my goddamn life.
I should’ve told you from the start.
At first, I didn’t because I was afraid. Afraid you wouldn’t want to work with me. That you’d hear the name St. Clair and slam the trailer door in my face. And I couldn’t afford that—not just for the sake of the plan, or the people it would help—but becausethe second I saw you, really saw you, I felt something I had never felt before.
I don’t even know when exactly it happened first.
