Deceitful Vows (Marital Privileges #2)

38. Zoya

38

ZOYA

M y heart whines when I push a bundle of cash to the other side of my desk instead of stuffing it into my purse. The funds I handed a pharmacist this morning were almost in comparison to the stack of cash Mars is clutching close to her chest, but it doesn’t alter the facts.

Not a single note belongs to me, so I can’t accept them.

Mars earned those tips. I merely tallied them, lodged them for tax purposes, and then distributed them to their rightful owner.

After adding the funds I’d refused into the bundle I just handed her, Mars moans like she hates money. “The bartenders get a share of our tips, so why shouldn’t you?”

Not looking up, I reply, “Because the bartenders offer a service. I do not.”

“You could.”

Now, I look up.

“Don’t give me that look.” Mars purses her lips in a way I plan to replicate when I’m not exhausted from working nights after spending my days with Nikita’s grandparents.

Nikita will never admit it, but we were close to losing Grampies during his last downward spiral. One bad case of pneumonia saw his medication bill doubling, and Nikita’s savings returned to what it was six months ago.

Without a proper breathing machine, Grampies’s condition will continue worsening, which in turn means he will need more medication.

It is a cruel cycle I don’t see us winning anytime soon, but I refuse to give up. Grampies was the first man who was ever kind to me, so I can’t turn my back on him like my family did me.

Mars burns off any wetness attempting to fill my eyes before it can make me look stupid. “I’ve seen the way the patrons stare when Trace takes too long to refill your drink. You could earn triple what you do now and work far less hours.”

“Don’t remind me.”

The salaries at Le Rogue are amazing. My position is the highest paid job I’ve held since college. My paycheck allows me to contribute to the rent, which my new building supervisor assures me I don’t owe since I’m supposedly months in advance, and some of Grampies’s ongoing medical expenses, but I doubt that will remain the case when Mr. Fakher’s accounting error is unearthed.

It is only a matter of time before I’ll owe thousands in backdated rent. I could lessen the anxiety keeping me awake at all hours of the night by being honest with the building sup and organizing a payment plan, but sometimes the best lessons are the ones you teach yourself.

That’s how I’m seeing my time at Le Rogue—as a lesson.

Nothing in life comes free…

And when you lay with an adulterer, you could end up surrounded by them.

I don’t think any of the Le Rogue regulars are single and ready to mingle. Not even ten percent of the patrons bother hiding their wedding rings, yet they’re still one step higher on the morality chart than Andrik.

They keep their extramarital activities away from their home base. They don’t flaunt it in the driveway of their mega-mansions for their wives to possibly see, or in a sex club with hundreds of guests only feet away.

“That dick must have been good,” Mars murmurs, pulling me from my thoughts. “Because you, my dear sexy friend, could have any dick you want, but you seem unwilling to let go of the last dick you had.”

“I wasn’t thinking about dick.”

She pffts me before slumping onto the chair opposite me like she’s wearing more clothing than she is. One wrong knee slip and I’ll see everything . “I’m surrounded by unvoiced desires for hours every night. I can read thoughts when it comes to what people are craving, and you, baby girl, are stuck on your ex.”

“He isn’t an ex,” I choke out with a laugh, hopeful it will hide my angst.

I’ve only known Mars for a week, yet she can already read me like a book. “So there is someone?”

Too tired to lie, I remain quiet.

Mars can never take a hint that you want to let bygones be bygones. “Cough it up. Who has your panties in such a mess you don’t want to flash them for 20K for one night’s worth of work?”

My eyes bulge at the mention of potential earnings, but her calculations are a little off. “That’s only 2K.”

She fans the cash I handed her, ruffling her perfect hair. “For my first dance of the night after a three-year stint in the strip circuit. First-timers rake in a fortune. Some pots even go as high as twenty.”

“Thousand?” I double-check.

I’ve been caught out before.

I won’t make that mistake twice.

She hums in agreement. “Melita got close to a new record last month. She was a couple of hundred short.” She flashes a cheeky grin, doubling my interest. “But between you and me, she more than doubled that when she went home with a John wanting a second viewing.”

The longer I remain quiet, the larger Mars’s smile grows.

I’m not shy, not in the slightest, but as often as guilt floods my heart, so does Andrik’s threat.

Don’t test me on six because I can guarantee neither you nor him will survive the outcome.

I tested him last week.

I’ve not heard a peep from Vlad since, and I’ve called him over a hundred times.

So as much as a one-time twirl around a pole could help me replenish the funds stripped from Nikita’s savings after Grampies’s latest health crisis, I don’t give it any true thought… until Gigi’s number pops up on my phone.

With my heart in my throat, I slide my finger across my phone screen and then squash it to my ear. “Gigi, are you okay? It’s late.”

“He’s struggling to breathe. His lips are blue. I tried to call Nikita. She’s not answering. I don’t know what to do.”

I shoot up from my chair, startling Mars. “Have you given him Epinephrine?”

“I can’t. The box is empty.” The rattle of an empty box sounds down the line. “There are no EpiPens left.”

Panic rains down on me before lucidity slips through the cracks. “Hang up and call an ambulance.”

“We can’t afford that.”

“I’ll get the money. I promise you I will. But you need to call them now, Gigi. He needs help you can’t give him. He needs urgent medical assistance.”

Her sob breaks my heart. She knows as well as I do that Grampies won’t make it if she doesn’t seek medical help immediately. “Ok-okay. I’ll call them now.”

She disconnects our call. I race for the exit just as fast.

“Go,” Lilia says before I can issue her a single excuse to leave early. “I’ll cover your shift.”

She accepts my mouthed thanks with a smile before telling the doorman to hail me a cab.

Disgustingly, I arrive at Gigi’s apartment at the same time as the paramedics. They give Grampies a shot of adrenaline that spikes his heart rate high enough for the monitors at his bedside to alarm. It also helps him breathe.

His color improves drastically as well.

The opposite can be said for Gigi.

“It’s okay,” I promise her after wrapping her up in a tight hug. “We will fix this. We will make it right. Grampies will get better. Look.” I wave my hand at him resting far more peacefully now that his breathing tube isn’t kinked.

I love Gigi with all my heart, but she is a klutz. She meant well wheeling in close to Grampies’s bedside to feed him his supper, but she forgot the tubes of the ECOM machine keeping his lungs primed with oxygen are too fragile to be clamped to his bedrails. They’re draped across the floor—right where she placed the feet of the dining room chair.

“He’s already improving.”

“It’s not just Grampies.” She breathes in and out three times before aligning her drenched eyes with mine. “It’s Nikita. She won’t go with you when she finds out about tonight. She’ll stay and continue working to the bone.” I can barely hear her over her sobs when she murmurs, “She can’t keep working the hours she’s doing. It will kill her even faster than Grampies’s condition is taking him from us.”

Since I agree with her, I remain quiet.

If I can’t scatter some truths throughout my lies, you won’t get a word out of me.

“She needs to live, Zoya. She needs to live for her.” Tears spring down her rheumy cheeks. “She needs to live the life her mama never got to have.”

“She does,” I wholeheartedly agree before striving to find a solution and coming up empty.

Gigi doesn’t face the same battle. “That’s why we’re not going to tell her about what happened tonight.” She sucks in a big breath, clears her tears with her sleeves, and then peers up at me in silent begging. “Grampies’s condition is stable… despite my stupidity .” She swallows down the painful sob that arrived with her last three words. “So there is no need to worry Nikita with this.”

“She’ll—”

“She needs this time away, Zoya. She needs to recover before she burns out.”

Once again, I remain quiet, having no defense to argue with. Nikita is a fighter. She will fight to the death for her grandfather, but she is also one shift of overtime from burnout.

She either takes a break or breaks.

If I am forced to pick which break she endures, I’d rather it be the former.

“Okay.” I breathe out slowly, nodding. “It will remain between us.”

I hate betraying my friend, but I truly believe a little white lie to save someone from a heap of heartache is okay on a rare occasion. Nikita will forgive me. It just won’t be until after I have forgiven myself.

Gigi sighs in relief. “Now that you’re on board, all we need to do is work out a way to pay for this”—she thrusts her hand at the paramedics still assessing Grampies before twisting her lips—“without Nikita finding out.” Her eyes glisten with an equal amount of excitement and tears. “I have some antique ornaments I could sell. We just need to find the right owner. They’re an acquired taste.”

Her voluptuous waddle to a collection of non-dusty knickknacks on a glass shelf next to Nikita’s sofa bed pops the perfect solution into my head.

“I know a way to get funds quickly.” When she peers at me with crinkled brows, I recall my earlier pledge that lying is only bad when it’s done to cause pain. “I was offered a gig earlier. It is a one-time opportunity, so it pays really well.” By sprinkling snippets of honesty in a lie, it is far more viable. “It could cover tonight’s incident and perhaps a couple of months of medication.”

“Really?” Gigi looks exalted, and it has my chin dipping with only the slightest bit of unease.

I doubt my nerves will be as contained when it comes to executing my plan, though.

It’s easier to talk the talk than to walk the walk.