“What did you do?” I didn’t have to look in his direction to feel the rage radiating off my boss. His steps were heavy and loud as he marched in my direction. “What did you fucking do?”
I was too busy looking down at the disaster on the ground to register his words. Just like the statue, I silently saw my life crumbling.
Parting my lips, I tried to find my words. My tongue felt thick and twisted altogether inside my mouth.
“I’m sorry,” I started off.
“You are sorry?” he sounded rough and all over the place. “Do you realize what you have just done?”
Finally, I looked at him. I saw the anger twisted on his face and I realized that I hadn’t had a single clue of what true wrath looked like on Carter Pratt.
I’d heard it over his phone calls and had seen it be given to different people. Never had he pointed it in my direction.
“That statue was worth more than you could ever dream of,” he continued without a pause. “One of a kind.”
“I,” I began, trying to ignore the way my heart was pounding so loudly. I couldn’t hear my own thoughts with the way my chest ached. “I can fix this. I can–” My words died off as I realized tears were beginning to collect at the corners of my eyes. I was not normally a crier.
“Crying will not get you out of this, Lana.” He nearly spat out my name like it left a bad taste in his mouth. “How do you expect to fix it? If you think money is the answer, I don’t think you have a hundred grand on your person.”
A hundred grand for a small statue of some dude? Oh god. That would take years to save up.
Parting my lips, I tried to think of something to say to help fix the situation. Carter beat me straight to it.
“Get out.”
The order was firm and from his tightened fists hovering at his sides, I didn’t want to imagine what would happen if I tried to stick around.
Muttering another apology, I quickly moved past him toward the exit. In a matter of minutes, I messed everything up.
I needed to fix it somehow. In the back of my mind, I knew a way out of the mess I’d created.
It wasn’t dealing with selling organs to the black market. No, it was worse.
I needed to call my father. The idea alone was enough to make me feel sick.
Too bad I didn’t have any other choice.