Page 34 of Ms. Fortune

“I need to take care of my tribe. What can I say?”

“Well, in doing so, you have made yourself even more irresistible than you were. Which, to be honest, was near impossible to do.”

Chelsie and Taylor walk past us to leave, and she raises an eyebrow at Brandon and me.

“You kids have fun, but not too much. I will be back.”

I smile at her and wave, but I don't laugh. Too much is happening to think about what she’s insinuating. I pull away from Brandon and head into the kitchen, knowing I have to let him read the letter.

Something in my gut tells me my dad was determined to see Brandon and me together, even though he never told me they were friends. Maybe the dark cloud hanging over him kept him from telling me. My dad the hopeless romantic. At least the hopeless part is accurate.

Chapter 23

BE THERE

BRANDON

Seeing Normandy again for the first time since the gala and knowing she is possibly in danger makes me want to just grab her and take her away from here. If I thought she would let me for a second, I would, and I still plan on trying to convince her to return to New York with me.

Being able to hold her again after thinking of her nonstop for the past week chips away at something in me. The wall I put up when she left the gala after being together is having a hard time standing now that she's been in my arms again. I can't forget the feel of her skin so easily. How my body reacts to her when I'm in her presence is hard to ignore.

She shows me her father's letter and the business card, and I examine them both carefully. It's hard to say how old this letter is, but it doesn't look like it was written recently. It's clear that Victor loved his ex-wife and his daughters, but it's also clear he knew he was in over his head. So, he had been living with this threat hanging over him and his family for God knows how many years.

“So, what do you think? Any ideas about what kind of trouble my dad could have been in? What those debts he's talking about in the letter are?” Normandy's eyes are tight with anxiety, and her body seems to vibrate with restlessness. She keeps shifting in her seat as though she can't get comfortable and won’t stop biting her lower lip.

“Actually, there are a few things I need to tell you that coincide with this letter.” I should have confided this information to her before, but I could never find the right time. And it’s not like we’ve been on speaking terms, either.

She looks curious, but the concern in her eyes deepens. I don't want to be the one to put more stress on her than she already has, but I don't have a choice.

“Have you talked to your mother yet about this letter?”

“No, I haven't been able to reach her. Why?”

“I've learned some things that involve your mother that you should know about. I had hoped she would be the one to tell you these things, but I guess that hasn't happened.”

“Brandon, what are you talking about? What does any of this have to do with my mother? Other than my dad really loving her?”

“Apparently, during your parents' marriage, your mother was kidnapped by Louie Calnetta. And that was what prompted her to file for divorce from your dad.”

Normandy freezes in astonishment, her dark eyes wide in surprise. “You can't be serious. I would have known if my mother had been kidnapped.”

“I don't know when it happened or how it resolved. I just know that it happened. I assume you were very young at the time.”

“How could you possibly know any of this?” She shakes her head in disbelief at me, doubt and certainty coming and going in her features.

“My house manager here in Vegas, Sophie, owned a nightclub years ago where your mother used to dance and where she met your father. She recognized your dress at the gala belonging to your mother, Joan?”

My words solidify the thoughts in her head, and I can see when the realization of the truth of it all hits her. It's a visceral reaction, almost like she's been punched in the gut. I jump out of my seat and go to her, pulling her hands into mine, but she can't look at me. Her eyes stare off to somewhere behind me, as I'm sure her imagination fills in all the blanks.

“This is all insanity. I can't believe this is happening. What the hell was my father involved with? Kidnapped? By Calnetta?”

“There's more, Normandy.” Her back stiffens, and her eyes snap to mine, and I can see the dread forming there. I have debated whether to tell her this, but in light of this letter, she needs to know. “There's a chance that your father didn't die of natural causes. The police are looking into your father's toxicology, which may lead them to investigate his possible murder.”

I can sense her hands begin to shake even though I'm holding them tightly; her entire body seems to flinch at the word ‘murder.’ Her shoulders start to curl in, and it looks as though she's about to fold in on herself under the weight of the news. I let go of her hands and pull her to me carefully, wanting to take away all her distress and suffer in her place so she doesn't feel this pain.

She pulls away from me, and her face is so pale she looks like she's going to be sick. Jumping out of her seat, she starts pacing around the kitchen, her breathing ragged, and I'm afraid she might hyperventilate.

“Normandy, you need to calm down. We're going to figure this out, I promise.”

---