Page 123 of Ruthless Claim

I ignore it.

It buzzes again, two minutes later.

I keep my eyes on the papers. This definitely isn’t Connor because my uncle has never called me twice in short succession.

The only other person it could be is Valentina. I feel a stab of irritation.

Valentina knows I’m working.

She knows I don’t pick up when I’m working unless someone is dying. I can only imagine why she’s calling.

Did something in the gallery go sideways?

Or does she need me to pick something up on the way home?

All of it can wait twenty minutes.

Kristoff is explaining, at length, why the March numbers shouldn’t concern me. Doyle is taking notes, looking engaged even though I know he’s really not.

A third call.

I glance at my pocket in irritation. Kristoff doesn’t pause.

Bzz. Bzz. Bzz. A fourth call.

Doyle glares at me from across the table, his lips pursed. I throw him a filthier look that says, not now. He goes back to his notes.

A fifth call.

Kristoff’s words falter. His eyes drift to the hidden pocket of my jacket, sharp and unblinking. His jaw tightens, a faint twitch in his brow, and he tilts his head slightly, as if weighing whether continuing is worth the trouble.

“One moment,” I say, standing. “Two minutes.”

I step out into the corridor.

The restaurant’s ambient noise closes around me—clinking cutlery, a table of six laughing at something near the front, the kitchen clanging through the swing door at the end of the hall, someone’s terrible taste in background music leaking in from the bar.

I pull out my phone.

Six missed calls. All from Valentina.

My stomach turns over.

She doesn’t do this. Valentina does not call six times. She texts, she knows I’m busy, she would not⁠—

I’m already calling back.

And while it rings, my brain rushes through all potential situations. Did something happen with the baby? Oh god, something went wrong with the baby. She’s still in the first trimester and the statistics on miscarriages at this stage of pregnancy are⁠—

I push that thought down and another one surfaces immediately.

She fell.

She’s not been feeling well, she doesn’t always eat enough because she’s only eating goddamn crackers and she’s been exhausted and if she fell, if she’s alone in the apartment and she⁠—

Emma. My mind seizes on that thought and my mouth dries at the thought of something happening to my baby cousin.

Did something happen to her?