The Bookie

Chapter 1-2

Chelle

“I need you to work on the media buys for these two new clients,” my boss, Janette, tells me, dropping two file folders on my desk at six o’clock.

There goes tonight’s spin class.

Despite my position as a glorified secretary, I’m grateful to be her assistant. As the founder and head of Image First Publicity, she’s a bad-a*s publicist, turning her minority-owned business into a multiple seven-figure enterprise within three years.

That’s why I’m here long past five, when my day is supposed to end. I don’t leave until she does because I’m trying to prove I’m worthy of an assistant publicist position with my own accounts.

I love the job. I find publicity both fascinating and glamorous. I definitely have aspirations of running my own firm someday. But to do that, I have to work from the ground up, which means when Janette snaps, I run. Because this business is highly competitive and there are at least a dozen people at the firm who would kill for my job. So for the moment, I’m resigned to having no social life.

Which is fine since my last three Bumble dates were a total flop. I’m not missing much.

Except for s*x.

I definitely miss s*x.

A little physical pleasure now and then would be nice.

The problem is, I’m not the kind of person who can separate s*x from a relationship. I don’t know how to date just for s*x. I try to picture the guys I date in the vision of what I want my future life to be. It’s all very serious, and no one measures up, and I’m left using my fingers and vibrator instead of lowering my standards to have my needs met and then kicking the guy out the door in the morning.

“I will get them all arranged,” I promise Janette, who has stopped to lean her hip against my desk.

It’s a good sign. It means she’s winding down. When she pauses to actually make conversation I know she’ll be leaving soon.

“I have potential clients coming in from Madison next week. I need to wine and dine them—show them what’s special about Chicago. Any ideas on where to take them?”

“You could always do one of the skyrise restaurants overlooking the city.”

Janette wrinkles her nose. “Too stuffy. They’re young. It’s Skate 3—three Youtube skateboard stars who have monetized their popularity with an online store that’s grossing three hundred grand a month. So I need something more lively and hip. What’s new around Chicago for nightlife?”

I nibble the inside of my lip. “Let me think about it, and I’ll make you a list of possible options.”

Janette rewards me with a smile and a quick tap of her manicured fingers on my desk. “That would be great. I knew you’d have some ideas. You’re young and out on the scene more than I am.”

I don’t disabuse her of the notion that I actually have a social life. I mean, I would like to have a social life. I partied a little in college with my roommate Shanna. But after my dad’s suicide, I pretty much packed that side of me up and shoved her in a box.

These days my social life consists of going to happy hour on Wednesdays when Shanna works the bar and seeing my younger brother, Zane, once a week for dinner, except he’s flaked the last couple of weeks. I’m afraid he may be partying too much. His grades last semester were definitely down.

The thought of him ending up like my dad keeps me up at night.

I start straightening my desk, hoping I’ve read the signs right, and it’s okay to leave for the day.

Janette stands. “All right, I’m heading out. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I shut down my computer and follow her out of the building, already starting to assemble the list of possible places she could take the clients in my head. By the time I’ve ridden the train home, I have a half-dozen ideas. I text them to myself as I walk the couple blocks to the place I rent.

When I push open the door of my apartment, I catch sight of my brother’s long body crashed out on my couch. Relief at seeing him is quickly replaced by concern.

“Zane? What’s up? Are you sick?”

It’s not completely unusual for him to be here. He comes by sometimes to do his laundry, but something feels off about him being here on a Friday night.

I catch sight of his face in the fading light and shriek. It’s been beaten. It’s swollen, almost unrecognizable.

“Oh my God! What happened to you?”

He groans.

“Zane?” I rush to his side, my heart thundering. “Oh my God. Should I call an ambulance? Who did this?”

The sense of dread coursing through my veins tells me I already suspect what happened. He’s into something bad. Dammit. I feared something like this was coming but kept trying to talk myself out of the worry.

“I ran into a couple guys’ fists.” Zane attempts to sit up, gasping at the effort.

“What. Happened?” I demand. I want the whole story. Whatever it is he’s been hiding from me for the past few months.

My brother is all I have in the world, and he’s my responsibility. I may only be five years older, but after our dad’s death, I became my brother’s guardian and the trustee of his college fund. I’m supposed to be taking care of him, and I’ve obviously screwed up, royally.

Tears burn my eyes. “Zane, tell me what’s going on,” I beg.

He winces as he draws a breath. “I owe some guys money,” he admits.

“What guys? d**g dealers?”

“No.”

It’s a tiny relief. He’s been so off lately that I’ve suspected he’s been using drugs recreationally.

“Bratva.”

“What?”

“They’re Russian mafiya. I got behind on my gambling debts.”

“f**k, Zane.”

Goddammit. I knew it! I freaking knew it.

I stand up and start pacing. “How much do you owe them?”

“Probably around forty grand now. They took the Mustang today and said they’d wipe the full value off what I owe.”

“I seriously doubt that.” Loan sharks give notoriously bad terms. They aren’t going to give him full value for his car. “Who are these guys?” I repeat, even though he already told me.

“Russian mafiya.”

“Okay, so the forty grand is before or after the value of your car gets knocked off?”

“Before.”

I pace some more. “How did this happen?”

“I’ve been playing poker with them for a while. I used to win big. But… my luck turned,” he says, as if that explains or excuses being forty grand in debt to the Russian mob.

“Your luck turned,” I repeat in disbelief. “When did your luck turn? How long have you been accumulating this debt? I mean, is it one night’s worth, or—”

“A few months. They stopped letting me in a month ago because I was under water. I’ve been working on a plan but—”

I c**k my head. “And that plan is?”

Zane doesn’t meet my eye. He gives a half-hearted shrug.

“So you don’t really have a plan?”

“No.”

“And how long did they give you to pay off this debt?”

He shrugs again. “They didn’t say. I guess today was a hurry-up warning.”

“A hurry-up warning.”

I go to the kitchen and wrap an ice pack in a towel and bring it to him. “I can’t believe this.”

He takes the ice pack but doesn’t put it on his swollen face. “I know.”

“I mean, after dad—” My voice cracks.

“I know.”

I can’t help it, the tears start falling. I snatch the ice pack from his hands and hold it to his bruised cheekbone, but he jerks away. “Zane, I can’t take this. It’s too much, okay? I couldn’t deal if something happened to you too.”

“Nothing’s going to happen to me,” he tries to placate me. “These guys aren’t that bad. I’m going to figure out how to get them the rest of their money, and I won’t play again. Okay?”

I sniff. “How?”

“I don’t know. Is there any way we could use the trust?”

“No,” I snap. I knew he’d ask me for that. “It’s for education expenses only. Do you know how lucky you are Dad left that intact when he died?”

“Okay, okay. Just checking.” He tries to get to his feet and falls to his knees instead.

“f**k, Zane!” I lurch forward and catch his arm. “Come on. I’m taking you to the hospital.”