Page 91 of Cash

I forced a crooked smile. “Oh. Hi.”

“Are you okay?” she asked, her face washed with worry.

I wiped my nose with the washcloth I was holding. “I’ve been better, thank you.”

She raised her hand to her mouth, and then coughed out a laugh. “I’m sorry, but you look like hell.” She pulled a bottle of wine from her purse and held it between us. “Can I come in?”

“I’ve been sick. I don’t think…” I stammered.

“You look like you could use someone to talk to,” she said. “How about a few minutes over a glass of wine?”

She was right, I did need someone to talk to, but not about what she was hoping to talk about. There was only one reason for her to be visiting, and I wasn’t prepared to talk about Cash. I did, however, plan on telling her about my financial woes, and a glass if wine sounded like a great idea.

I moved to the side. “Please. Come in.”

She stepped inside and looked around. “I love your home. It’s beautiful.”

I glanced in the living room. A mental sigh escaped me. My blanket and pillow remained on the couch, right where they’d been for the last month. I had yet to sleep in my bedroom since Cash left.

I couldn’t bring myself to.

I gestured toward the pile of bedding and turned toward the kitchen. “I had a slumber party last night.”

“Looks like a big group,” she said with a laugh.

She followed me into the kitchen and poured two glasses of wine. After joining me at the table, she looked me over.

“When was the last time you ate?” she asked.

I coughed a dry laugh. “What night was the barbeque?”

She gave me a side-eyed look. “Seriously?”

I shrugged. “I’ve eaten a little.”

“You don’t look like it. Do you want me to make you something?”

“I can’t eat. Not right now.”

“Want to talk?” she asked.

“As a matter of fact,” I said. “I do.”

She raised her wine glass. “Start wherever you’d like.”

“Some son-of-a-bitch hacked into my account and stole my money. I’m flat broke.”

“Wait? What?” she gasped. “What money?”

“My money,” I said through my teeth. “All my money.”

I told her of the money, the mysterious accounts, and of there not being a name or an account number to find. The more I spoke, the angrier I became. By the time I was finished, I wasn’t crying.

I was furious.

“If I find out who did this,” I said through my teeth. “They’ll need a bucket to carry him away in, because I’m going to hack him to pieces.”

“I can’t imagine,” she said. “I’m so sorry. Do you have a plan to try and retrieve it? To catch the guy?”