Zella
“I can’t do it, I’m sorry, Dad.”
I closed my eyes and groaned into my palms. I had been practicing telling Dad I couldn't plant the recorder like he asked. “He’s going to be so mad at me.”
I looked up to meet the eyes of my driver through the rearview mirror, and he had a blank look on his face-just like all of Isaiah's men. "A little word of encouragement would be nice,"
He only nodded briskly, and I sighed and slumped in my seat. Telling Dad I couldn't plant the recorder in Isaiah's study was going to be soul crushing. He would be so disappointed. But there had to be another way, like making money through actually legitimate means.
The meeting with Diana Sterling today had gone better than I dared to imagine. She had loved my sketches for her workshop, and it was amazing. A
