Chapter 23

CHAPTER

TWENTY-THREE

Anthony stripped off his sweaty shirt and tossed in it on the pile of dirty clothes. Margot had left for work while he was running, as usual, and the silent morning was now his favorite time of the day as he could shower, eat breakfast, have a coffee, and check the news while having an existential crisis about his future in private. All before applying for jobs… The business card on his bedside table caught his gaze.

He could enquire about that job… He didn’t need to accept.

Maybe he was wrong. Maybe it was a genuine offer, and everything had seemed off because of the crowd-induced panic attack. It would be rude not to call…

He picked his phone up off the bed, where he’d tossed it when he walked into his bedroom to strip before showering, and typed in Farring’s number. His heartbeat quickened as the phone rang.

For a second, he wanted to hang up. He didn’t know what to say.

“Frank Farring.”

Anthony drew in a breath. He’d made hundreds of calls before. He knew how to talk to people. “Hello this is Anthony Davidson. We spoke at the ballet.”

“Yes, Anthony. I’m glad you called.”

Anthony couldn’t say the same yet. “Well, I’m intrigued by your offer.” And desperate enough for a job that he wanted to find out more. “What kind of role did you have in mind? Document control? Archiving? Research? I’m not sure what your organization does.”

And that information hadn’t been on the business card. Another reason this felt off.

“I have a lot of different businesses. Let’s call it research, if you understand what I mean.”

Anthony stared at the shadows on the bedroom wall as he tried to form a response. He’d been so good at this. He played dumb. “So I wouldn’t be researching?”

“You would be. I want you to find me the best deals.”

“I’m not allowed to deal with money.”

Frank laughed as though the restriction wasn’t a problem. “You wouldn’t be. You’d be researching money.”

And how long until Farring asked him to make the deals? He stood at the top of a very slippery slope.

Farring kept talking, suggesting a base salary with quarterly bonuses. The numbers were appealing, very appealing. Sometimes the deal was too good to be true.

Anthony jumped in when Farring paused for breath. “How do you know Rafe, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“He did some consulting for me.”

Consulting could mean anything. So many things were written off as consulting fees. He swallowed, not wanting to remember but needing to. If he went back to that, he’d end up going back to prison.

But a well-paying job meant getting out of Margot’s house and into his own place.

He’d be able to buy a car. If he sold his watch and other bits, he’d have the money to buy a car now, but he was holding onto the remaining pieces of his past like they were badges of honor.

“What are you thinking? I might be able to throw in a company car.”

This was the only job offer he’d received. He should be jumping on it. But one wrong step and he’d be riding that slippery slope all the way to the bottom, and he knew what waited there.

“I think Rafe might be better suited to the role.” His tongue felt wooden. Part of him didn’t want to refuse the job, but the rest of him had seen the danger last night.

“You’re turning down a job, doing what you love?”

He wasn’t sure it was something that he loved, just something that he’d been good at. And because he’d been expected to make good money, he’d followed that path. He didn’t need to be on that path anymore, not when there were so many more.

“I am.”

Farring made a disgruntled noise. “You want more money, is that it?”

“No.” He wanted his freedom, and he couldn’t put a price on that. “I’m not right for the role. Good luck finding someone.” He hung up and closed his eyes. What the fuck had he done?

Who the fuck was he?

The old Anthony wouldn’t have said no. The old Anthony, who thought it was all a game, was why he was in this mess. Which meant he’d done the right thing.

He tossed his phone back onto the bed. What kind of idiot refused a job when they were stuck living in his sister’s spare room?

The temptation to call Farring back and take the job for a few months to put some cash in his bank account burned within him. But it was just once, and then again, and then every time until it was too late. He’d already made that mistake, and he didn’t need to make it again.

He ripped up the business card and tossed it in the trash.

Something else would come up. Someone else would give him a chance, the way Cillian had. He scrubbed his hand over his face. How long until Cillian was tired of his broke ass?

He picked up the watch from his bedside table. He’d bought it after scraping his first million. From the bedside table the pulled out the gold cufflinks his father had bought him when he graduated.

Was it going to look suspicious if he sold them?

Probably.

He texted Mick to let him know he was selling off his past so he could move forward.