But who cares? I guess if there is a moment in life when you can be a little bit selfish about taking up other people’s time, it’s when you’re sitting at a cemetery.

“No, thank you,” I finally say. “I have my car.”

Everybody disappeared after they found out about the will. It’s not official yet, these things take time. But the writing is on the wall. Tiffy Preston was cut out. She owns one struggling luxury hotel in Nevada, and I’m sure they think I’m gonna get nowhere with that, since the whole place is in flux after Fletcher left and Chandler took the job in Vegas that Cole offered him.

Cole. I can’t even.

I can’t even with that hotel either. I just feel… defeated.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

I turn my head a little at the woman’s voice behind me, but not enough to see who it is.

“Thank you,” I mutter.

Clothing rustles as she makes her way up to the row of chairs in front of the grave where I sit alone. She takes a seat two chairs down and places a black leather attaché case on the red velvet cushion.

I stare at it, then glance up at her face and frown. It’s the woman who was having lunch with Cole last Sunday. “Can I help you with something?”

She smiles. And she’s very pretty with her blue eyes and blonde hair, her perfect face with her perfect makeup. No bloodshot eyes for her. No tearstains on her cheeks. Her hair is swept up in a professional do that is sophisticated and sexy at the same time.

“I’m a friend of Fletcher’s.”

I shake my head and look down. But I say nothing. I just haven’t got the energy.

“And he was going to show you this last weekend, but he…” She pauses, maybe trying to find the right words for what happened last weekend. “But he didn’t have time.”

“I’m not interested.” It comes out flat. Devoid of emotion.

“Maybe not.” She sighs. “But he thinks you should at least know.” She pats the case and stands. “When you’re ready.”

I have nothing for that. I don’t even have a slight curiosity about what that case might contain. A letter of apology? That makes me snort and the woman halts her retreat mid-stride, to see if I have anything to say.

No, more likely it’s more lies.

“He’s sorry,” she says.

“I bet he is.”

She sighs, letting out a long stream of frustration into air that is so damp from humidity, it probably clings to her breath. “He really is sorry.”

“For what?” I ask, finally looking up again. “What exactly is he sorry for?”

The woman gives me a little gesture with her hands. Something akin to, I’m not sure.

That makes two of us.

“If you have any questions, you can call me.” Those are her final words. She turns and walks off.

I stare at the case, then turn around in my seat and watch her retreat. The man in charge here is waiting a little ways off, his hands clasped together behind his back, like he’s standing guard.

I look back at the case, pick it up by the handle, and then stand. I peer over into the deep hole that holds the only father I ever knew and feel the sting of sadness as a final tear streaks its way down my cheek. “Goodbye, Dad.” My chin trembles. “I just want you to know, I love you. And I don’t care about the money. If you feel I don’t deserve anything, then there’s a reason for that. I’ll be OK.”

And that’s it. That’s all there is to say about it. He made his decision and I’m going to live with it.

I walk off, the heels of my shoes sticking into the soil underneath the deep grass with each step. I get my car, place the black case on the passenger seat beside me, and then start it up and drive away.

Chapter Thirty-One

At home, in my Preston Resorts-owned condo in Pacific Heights—how soon will they take this away, I wonder for a brief second—I lie in my bed. The AC is on, and the small one-bedroom condo I’ve called home for the past two years has allowed me the luxury of hiding under the covers, pretending reality is a dream and the dream is reality.

The phone rings, but I ignore it. It’s been ringing all day. There are at least ten messages on there.

The machine picks up and Cole’s voice meanders into my bedroom. “Tiffy, we need to talk. I know you’re upset about—”

He has no idea what I’m upset about. I barely know what I’m upset about. It’s more than the death. It’s everything that happened last week end all rolled up into one giant WTF.

“—but I have investors interested in the Landslide. I hadn’t had time to talk about the financial situation—”

“No,” I say bitterly, “you were too busy using it as your fuck palace to have a frank conversation with me about the hotel.”

“—they made a decent offer. So if you need the capital to…” He hesitates here, maybe choosing his words carefully. “… to clear up some financial obligations…”

Wow. That was tactful.

“… I can arrange for the sale. Just let me know.”

The message ends. The machine beeps. And then the apartment goes silent with nothing but the sound of the air-conditioning coming out of the vents.

I go back to sleep.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxo

When I wake the light streaming through the sheer white curtains of my bedroom tells me it’s late afternoon. But I don’t turn to see the time. The phone is ringing again. I listen to a strange voice claiming she is from the probate lawyers telling me that we have a meeting tomorrow.

I won’t be going, so I turn over and fall back asleep.

The next time the phone rings, the sunlight has that new-day brightness to it. This time it’s Claudio.

My eyes close and I pine for my mom.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxo

“Tiffy?”

Claudio has found his way into my apartment. I open my eyes and wait for him to find me.

“Tiffy,” he says, walking through my bedroom door. “Oh my God. Jesus Christ, girlfriend. I thought you were dead. Some dramatic suicide—”

“Claudio,” I croak out. “Why are you here?”

“I’ve been trying to call you for two days!” He screams it, jolting me awake. “You fucking bitch!” I look at him and realize he’s been crying.

“Claudio,” I repeat.

“No,” he says, shaking his head in that dramatic way he does. “No, Tiffy. You had me so worried. I came all the way from Nevada. Drove straight through. I asked Cole to come check on you, but he said he’d send someone from his office. And the thought that a stranger would find your body—”

“I’m fine, Claudio.”

“It doesn’t matter. I thought you…” He sniffs. “I thought you’d…”

“I didn’t.” The fact that he thinks I’d take the easy way out like my mother stings more than I care to admit. “I just don’t feel like talking to anyone.”

He comes over to the bed and lies down next to me. He pulls me into a hug that is deep, and sad, and says all the things I needed to hear in one silent gesture. “Please,” he says. “Don’t do this. Don’t give up. We’re going to be fine. OK?”

I nod into his embrace. “I know. I do. I just needed… time.”

We lie there like that. Me and my best friend. I don’t know how long, but it’s a considerable amount of time. It slips away from me these days.

“Get up now, OK?” he asks. “I’ll make you breakfast and coffee. And we can put things back together.”

“I’m not sure I want to put things back together, Claudio. Cole.”

“Oh, God,” he says. “Don’t even mention that bastard’s name.”

“Why?” I turn to him. “What’s happened?”

“You mean besides the fact that he’s got foreign investors all over the Landslide like he owns it? You need to fire him, Tiffy. Today. He needs to get his nosy ass out of your hotel. He’s out there making decisions. He fired all the dancers.”