C.A.K.E

Chapter 17: Bad Karma's a Bitch

"Mum . . .Dad." Casper breezes into his parents' home and shuts the door. Grinning from ear to ear, he

makes his way into the front sitting area. "Where are you guys?"

"In here, Casper." Leonora's voice calls to her son.

Casper follows his mother's melodic tone toward the kitchen. The smell of her famous peach cobbler

has him almost skipping into the room. "Smells good in here," he says rubbing his hands together.

"It should," Leonora says, smiling at him. "I've been baking all day for you."

He smiles, surveying the fruits of her labor. Leonora has certainly made the kitchen her second area of

expertise. Anything prepared by her hands is nothing short of a culinary masterpiece. Years of medical

training as a pediatrician have gifted her with an amazing amount of precision and finesse.

When his parents decided to close their pediatric practice and retire eight years ago, they spent the first

couple of weeks sleeping in and watching Jeopardy. Then Manali gave birth to Jillian a month later and

provided the two a whole other purpose in life.

So they inserted themselves into the upbringing of Jillian and Sophia with all the subtlety of a bulldozer.

But Ali would never dream of objecting to the intrusion. The way Leonora and Charles dote on Jillie and

Sophie, it's a wonder the girls aren't complete spoiled brats.

On days when they weren't fawning over their grandchildren, they struggled to find a proper hobby to

fill their new surplus of leisure time. After much trial and error, and an unfortunate brief foray into

ballroom dancing, Charles settled on golf and Leonora became Julia Child.

Casper couldn't be more thankful that her chosen arena is the kitchen. There's always a cake or pie

waiting for him when he visits.

He gives her a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Leonora accepts his silent thank-you with an enthusiasm

that could rival the almost nauseating pep of a high school glee club.

She cuts him a piece of cobbler and tops it with a scoop of vanilla bean ice cream. Still warm from the

oven, the pastry begins to melt the soft serve into a delicious mess. Leonora grabs a spoon and feeds

a bite of it to him.

"You're a goddess among women, Mum." Cash smiles and takes the spoon from her. He settles onto a

barstool beside her and tucks into the dessert. "Still the best cobbler I've ever had."

Leonora leans over and kisses the side of his head, letting her touch linger on his temple. As she rubs

his back, she watches him eat. "How is my sweet boy?"

"I'm good." A slight smile crosses his face. Having just stolen a kiss from the woman of his dreams,

nothing can touch him today. He takes another bite of the second sweetest thing he's tasted in the last

few hours. Arden drifts into his thoughts again, making the delight on his handsome features even

more noticeable.

"Are you sure, sweetheart?" she asks, still making soft strokes along his back.

"I'm sure." Casper nods, remembering the feeling of Ardi's lips against his. He glances up at his

mother. The worry on her face fails to recognize the sheer bliss written upon his. He gives up trying to

convince her. "Where's Dad?"

"He's out." Her answer is rushed. She makes a very audible sigh and scoots into the seat next to him.

Placing her hand on his arm, she gives it a gentle shake. "Casper, look at me please."

Without a second of hesitation, Casper puts down the spoonful of cobbler and cancels its one-way trip

to his lips. He shifts in his seat to offer Leonora the full attention that she deserves. While he's looking

into her green eyes, he finds something else hidden in their depths. He clears his throat and scratches

at the back of his neck.

"What is it, Mum?" he asks, taking a deep breath.

"I talked to your brother this morning," Leonora speaks slowly like she's attempting to introduce her

words into a pool of water without disturbing its calm surface. Still touching his arm in that quiet

reassuring manner of hers, her face fades into a frown. "And he told me what happened between you

two."

Casper groans and reaches for a napkin to tidy his hands, before pushing aside his dish. He gives his

mother a tired smile. "So you didn't call me over here just for the cobbler."

"No, son. I didn't." She looks away from him and stares out of the window for a moment. Then she

grasps his hand. "Why didn't you call me?"

"And say what?" Casper leaves his seat and turns his back to her. Running his hands over his hair, he

glares at the vaulted ceiling. "This was between me and Cain. He never should have involved you."

Once again, Cain has chosen to take the bitch's way out and call their parents. They could have settled

this like men without laying their problems on anyone else's doorstep.

"Casper this is a family problem." Leonora touches the cuff of his jacket and urges him to sit. When he

does, she takes both his hands in hers. "And as painful as it might be, the only way we'll get through it

is together."

He can't help laughing. "We can't just hug this one out, Mum. He ..." The absurdity of last night's

revelation and subsequent altercation leaves him at a momentary loss for words. He scratches at his

goatee while he searches for a respectful reply. "Things between Cain and me aren't going to be right

for a very long time."

"I know that, honey." She gives his hand a gentle squeeze. "But ignoring each other isn't going to make

things any easier. You need to discuss this like two calm, rational adults."

"All right." After a full minute of quiet seething inside his head, Cash sighs, and shrugs. "I'll call Cain in

a couple days. I can't promise anything else."

They're both quiet for a few minutes before Leonora decides to speak again.

"There is no excuse for what Cain and Karma have done." She glances down at her hands and takes a

deep breath. "But you have to understand your brother. He was an only child for twelve years before

you came to live with us. He never quite adjusted to that change. And that's my fault."

"No, Mum. It isn't." Casper shakes his head. "Whatever Cain has become is a result of his own

choosing."

"I made him resent you." Leonora strokes his cheek and gives him a weak smile. "When your father

died ... and with Ophelia ..." Tears glisten in her emerald eyes. "I was so focused on making sure that

you felt wanted, that I ..." She pauses to swipe at her cheeks, then meets his gaze again. "I could have

done better ... by both of you."

Seeing her cry brings tears to his own eyes. He puts his arms around her, hugging her so tight that he

might crush her. "You did everything you could for me. Cared for me like a son. I'll never be able to

thank you enough for that."

It's true. Leonora has always treated Casper like her own. Some would even argue that she doted on

him more than she did Cain. But both boys had the same advantages and the same benefit of Leonora

and Charles' unflinching love and support. Every family tree has at least one bad apple. At some point,

you have to stop blaming the roots for the wrongdoing of its fruit.

Just like Casper's success is his own. The implications of Cain's lack of conscience are a product of his

own depravity, not their parents.

They continue to hang onto each other, both choking back the emotion that neither can find adequate

words to express. Leonora kisses Casper's cheek, then pulls back to look into his eyes. Cradling his

face in her hands, she sighs and shakes her head. A sad smile nudges at her full cheeks.

Cash glances down at the space between them. He's never been able to tolerate that look from her.

The last time he saw it was at his wedding. That weak smile and the clouds in her eyes always make

him think of the first woman to ever leave him. And even as a man in his mid-thirties, that wound still

hasn't found the time to heal.

Before he can find his feet to run from the inevitable phrase that's waiting on her tongue, she utters the

dreaded words. "Your mother would be so proud of you."

With one sentence, he's that seven-year-old boy standing beside his mother's casket with a single

white rose in his hand. Your mother would be so proud of you. She would be. Not she is. The list of

things that Ophelia will never be is long enough to fill countless pages a billion times over. Something

new seems to add itself to the queue every single day.

The walls are closing in on him all of sudden. He tugs at the collar of his shirt, desperate to break free

of its now suffocating clutches.

"I um ... I gotta go." An inexplicable pain cracks at his voice, stripping his deep tone of its usual easy

confidence. He gives her a rushed kiss on the forehead and slips out of her grasp. "I love you. Call you

tomorrow."

Leonora follows him, her feet working double-time to match his long strides. She tugs on the edge of

his jacket. "Casper, wait."

He blinks several times, grinding his teeth into each other. The memory of his mother's body being

lowered into a six-foot hole in the ground torments him as he tries to block the vivid imagery from his

mind's eye.

Just as he's fighting with that painful bit of his past, another unwelcome recollection begins screaming

for his attention. The unmistakable smell of bleach and human decay fills his nose. It's seven years

after Ophelia's demise, and he's at his father's bedside. He remembers how helpless he felt watching

the once invincible Frederick Buhari drift into death's cold grasp.

He reaches for the front door handle, trying to laugh through the tears that are beating against his

eyelids. "I have some work ... to finish before tomorrow."

Leonora puts herself between him and the door and presses the stained glass fortress of oak closed

again. "Sit with me for a minute ... please."

Giving no other acknowledgment of his acquiescence, he allows her to lead him into the living room.

She takes a seat on the sofa and he joins her, choosing to sit with his elbows on his knees and his face

half-buried in his palms.

She places her hand on his shoulder. "Sweetheart, do you remember her?"

The question strains at the fragile grip he has on the last thread of his composure. She's still with him.

Everything about her is etched into his memory with an eery vibrancy, like light shining through the

negative of a photograph.

Some details about her exist in x-ray, just bones without any substantial flesh. Details like her laugh,

how she always smelled of vanilla and cinnamon, or the way it felt to cuddle up with her in that worn

blanket and relax against the comforting rise and fall of her chest. He loved just being near her.

Sometimes he forgets what that felt like. But her face will always be with him.

With skin like bittersweet cocoa and eyes like the sun, Ophelia was a sight to behold. Her features

were rather ordinary. No one would have accused her of being the most gorgeous woman to ever walk

the earth. Most of her beauty lay in the crooked smile that she didn't show off enough, or her innate

ability to make complete strangers feel like they were old friends.

She was simply ambrosial as his father had once put it. Just when he felt those memories beginning to

lose some of their glamour, another angel came along and breathed new life into them.

But fate is still playing her cruel jokes on him. Karma's for damn sure a bitch and she has a definite

score to settle with Casper. So much so that she sent a petite package after her own name to blast a

wrecking ball through his life. His wife and brother have plunged a knife so deep into his back that he'll

never be able to extract the blade. Plus the one woman he wants and needs more than air bears

another man's last name.

As sophomoric as it might sound, sometimes life just isn't fair. And no one knows that better than he

does. He drags himself out of his thoughts and answers Leonora's earlier question.

"Like the back of my hand. Every smile. Every sight, sound, scent." Casper nods and fiddles with his

fingers. "I remember ... all too well."

"It's okay to talk about her." She smooths her other hand over his hair. "It's okay to grieve for her ... and

your father."

Bearing down into his skin until he leaves a faint mark on his chocolate complexion, he pinches the

webbed bit of flesh between his index finger and thumb. He shed all the tears he ever planned to weep

for his mother a long time ago. His grief is resting beside two headstones in a Brighton cemetery, left

there by a young man too weary to carry its full burden to another country.

No, he doesn't cry for her anymore. And he never wept for his father. Life had cheated Frederick of his

one true love. Death meant the end of suffering so great that it was difficult for him to take a breath

every morning because of its crushing weight. Mr. Buhari was free. He would no longer languish behind

the bars of the prison created by Ophelia's passing.

Casper still had a lifetime sentence to endure without his cellmate who made the pain of her absence

bearable. He's been going it alone for years. Talking about their loss just makes pretending that he's

okay even harder.

Bereavement for him is something that is best consolidated to a quiet corner of the mind and forgotten.

Acknowledging the true depths of his ills scares him. There may be no coming back from that dark

abyss. And right now, he can feel himself slipping in way too deep.

"Mum, I really don't want to have this conversation." He glances over at her, quiet desperation written

on his face. "Not now."

Trying to stifle her own emotions, she nods at him. Neither of them utters another word on the matter.

Even if they did have something further to say, it would be drowned out by the boisterous entrance of

Charles and one of Casper's least favorite people at present.

"Nora?" Charles steps into the house, struggling to balance the bag of golf clubs that are slung over his

shoulder. "We're back."

"I smell cobbler." Cain sits down his things and takes the heavy bag from his father. "Winner gets the

first piece. Sorry, Pops." He nudges Charles' arm.

"You only won by one stroke." He smirks at Cain. "Beginner's luck is all. I'll wipe the links with you next

time."

"Whatever you say, old man." Cain places his arm around his father's shoulders and proceeds to walk

through the archway that connects the foyer to the living room.

The jovial banter of father and son comes to a screeching halt when they notice Nora and Casper on

the sofa. Removing his arm from Charles' shoulder, Cain shoves his hands into the pockets of his

khakis. He steps further into the room, regarding his brother with a smug smile. That ass-whooping last

night must not have taken. Cash might need to administer a second dose.

Casper rises from the couch and stands a few feet in front of Cain. The air between the two becomes a

charged minefield. One false move from either of the men and this whole house could blow.

Charles braves the gap and comes forward to embrace the other man who has become a source of

immense pride for him. "Casper. It's good to see you, son."

"You too, Dad." Cash steps back and admires the older man's physique. "Looking good. Losing some

weight?"

The compliment makes Charles chuckle, his gut moving in time with his deep chortle. "Not with the way

your mother cooks."

Nora and Cash join his amusement, forgetting the tension that surrounds them for a brief moment. As

the two continue their light back and forth, the heat radiating off Cain almost sets the room ablaze.

Casper catches his glare and returns the look of animosity.

The laughter dies down and an uncomfortable silence takes up residence again. Charles and Nora

stare at their children, unsure of how to defuse this powder keg. They've fought with each other on

numerous occasions. But there was never any evidence of bad blood between them. At least there

never was on Casper's end.

Deciding to set yet another example of his emotional maturity, Casper attempts to revive the dead air

between them. "Cain."

The acknowledgment may not sound like much. But in a man's world, it's the equivalent of an olive

branch.

Cain remains mute. He either doesn't recognize the invitation for amnesty, or he doesn't care. The

latter is the more likely possibility of the two.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Charles regards his youngest with a mixture of frustration and

disappointment. "Don't you have anything to say to your brother, Cain?"

The three of them wait for Cain to speak. Seeming to crack underneath the pressure of the stern stares

of his parents, he recovers his willingness to piece together syllables.

"I'm sorry, Casper," Cain utters the words in a harsh whisper, glancing over at his father for a moment

as he does.

"Let's not waste our breath stating the obvious," Cash says through gritted teeth.

Cain scoffs. He locks eyes with his brother and doesn't let his laser vision waver. "You didn't let me

finish ... brother." Though it's midday and the room is awash in natural light streaming in from its bevy

of windows, a shadow overtakes his face. A chilling grin accompanies the darkness. "I'm sorry ... that

your wife preferred my dick to yours."

"Cain," Nora and Charles exclaim in tandem. They gape at him, seeming to be in complete disbelief at

their son's crassness.

"Have you lost your mind speaking to your brother like that?" Charles asks. "And in front of your mother

no less."

"No, Dad. It's okay ... I'm sorry, too ..." Casper steps forward and places a hand on his dad's shoulder.

He nods at Cain, digging deep to make the remorse on his face seem genuine. "That I didn't shove my

foot quite far enough up your ass."

The men advance toward each other, snarling like two rabid dogs. They maintain eye contact, neither

one daring to look away first. At this moment, they're more alike than they realize. Both of them have

the potential to let pride cloud their better judgment.

"All right, that is enough." Leonora steps into the middle of the fray and urges the boys away from each

other. "I know I raised you two better than this. So start acting like you have some shred of home

training."

Nora divides her infuriated gaze between Casper and Cain. The angered expression seems foreign on

her otherwise docile features. She takes several shallow breaths as her elevated heart rate struggles to

calm itself.

Seeing her upset like this makes Casper so embarrassed at his behavior that he can't meet her eyes.

He apologizes to his parents and mutters a quick goodbye to them both before heading for the door.

Paying no mind to the ignorant bastard who is burning a hole into the side of his head as he walks past,

Cash makes his way out to his car.

Once inside the interior of his Bentley, he slips on a pair of aviators and allows his anger to take the

empty seat next to him. He peels out of the driveway, ready to push his endgame into high gear. Cain

better be ready for the ride.

He drives back to his office like an angry demon fresh out of hell. Forcing his usual smile with his

colleagues as he stalks to his spacious corner of the office building, he decides to go ahead with the

plan he concocted last night. Whatever shred of rationality he had left this morning, has been

decimated by Cain's latest absurd demonstration of his jealousy for Casper.

Taking a seat at his desk, he sets about making a couple of calls. His first will be a conference call with

Arthur Young and Matthew Dunn, the partners of the Young & Dunn advertising firm.

The same advertising firm that lists his brother, Cain Callaghan, as a senior ad executive. His company

bio details Cain as a promising talent, and an invaluable contributor to the firm. It goes on to name him

as the chief executive handling such accounts as, Nike, New Balance, Adidas, etcetera.

"Art, Matt. How are you, gentlemen?" Casper greets the two men who have become old friends over

the years.

When Cash first began his career at Regent Financial, he handled a few personal accounts for the

men. Arthur and Matthew became very fond of the young prodigy who devised a few clever accounting

practices to keep the majority of their earnings out of the government's grasp. And on top of that, the

entire operation was legal. Unethical perhaps ... But legal nonetheless.

"Buying our third vacation homes thanks to you." Arthur's voice booms loud and clear over the phone.

He's a large presence even when he isn't in the room.

"Ilka and I are even looking into having a superyacht built next year. She can't wait to sail to Monaco,"

Matthew adds.

"How is Ilka? She still twenty-two and Ukrainian?" Casper asks, with a smile creeping across his face.

"Yes, she is." Matthew laughs. "And she just started taking yoga classes. I am a very lucky man."

"Luck ain't the word for it," Arthur quips.

"Sounds divine. I'm glad to hear that life is treating you both so well."

"How about you, Cash?" Arthur asks.

Casper takes a pause. He reconsiders the decision he allowed the liquor in his system to make for him

in the early hours of this morning. His hand hovers over the "send" button on his computer screen. The

doctored bank statements will form the crux of the plan he's devised to feed his heart's hunger for

revenge. According to these documents, Cain has been receiving regular payments over the last six

months from two of Young & Dunn's competitors.

By sending these pages to Cain's superiors, Casper will be taking a sledgehammer to his little brother's

career. Cain could earn a permanent spot on the advertising industry's blacklist. Casper removes his

fingers from the computer's mouse.

Then the image of his brother sweating and breathing harder than a fat man on a treadmill over his wife

burns across his eyes. He sends the incriminating email on its way.

The delicious feeling of revenge washes over him, leaving a smirk on his face. "To be honest, Arthur. I

could be better."

"Anything we can do to change that, you know all you have to do is ask," Matt speaks his offer without

a moment's hesitation.

"I'm glad to hear you say that, Matthew." Casper leans back in his ergonomic chair and props his

loafers on the edge of the glass desk. "There is something that you and Arthur can do for me."

"Consider it done," Art says.

Cash smiles and takes a breath. "How is Cain's performance these days?"

"He's cutthroat and imaginative." Matthew chuckles. "In short, he's the best asset and biggest liability

that we have."

"Why do you ask?"

"I want you to fire him," Casper says, his voice devoid of any emotion.

"You want us to sack our best executive?"NôvelD(ram)a.ôrg owns this content.

"I hope there's a good reason behind this request." Matthew sounds like he's on the verge of a

coronary.

Casper considers telling the two gentlemen the truth. That their best associate has screwed over his

own family with a surprising amount of ease. But the truth doesn't cast Casper in the most flattering of

lights either. Not to mention the way this vengeful maneuver would make him look if anyone were to

find out about it.

"It has come to my attention that Cain has been ..." He takes a pause to allow the proper anticipation to

build on the other line. "... less than loyal over the past year."

"Are you saying he's been trading ideas with the competition?" Arthur's voice adopts a harsher tone. "I

knew that Asics campaign sounded familiar."

Once again, Cain's elusive behavior has made things easy for Cash. He shrugs. "I wouldn't put it past

him."

"Just a minute," Matthew interrupts. "Not that we don't trust your opinion, Casper. But do you have any

proof of these allegations?"

"I just sent Cain's bank records to you."

There's a brief lull in their conversation as the two men locate an electronic device to pull up the email.

"That little bastard," Matthew mutters.

"He'll be out of here so fast, his head will spin," Arthur exclaims. His once genial tone transforms into

one more favorable of a tattooed brawler in a biker bar.

"Just a moment, Arthur. Another possibility just occurred to me," Casper says.

"What's that?"

"If you let him go, he could walk into another agency and divulge your company's proprietary

information." Casper picks up the engraved paperweight given to him by Cain, tossing the silver object

up into the air and catching it in his palm. "Then, of course, he could always take his clients with him

and start his own firm."

"So what do you suggest we do about him, son?" Art asks.

"A six-month suspension without pay." Casper puts his feet on the floor again and sits up straight. "It

would give him some time to reconsider where his allegiance lies."

"Good idea. As long as he's still a part of our staff, he can't look for another job without violating the

terms of his employment." Matthew sighs. Then a boisterous chuckle sounds over the phone. "Casper,

we both are going to owe you our first grandchild for everything you've done for us."

"He's right," Arthur agrees. "How in the hell did you even catch this?"

Casper rises from his seat and stares out of the floor-to-ceiling window of his office at the sunlight

blazing down on the downtown area. He smooths his hand over his goatee.

"Well ..." He takes a deep breath "Let's just say I've been making an effort to be more vigilant as of late.

Never know who you can trust."

"That's the first rule of business, son. Either way, we owe you once again."

"Gentlemen, I know this goes without saying. But ... Cain can't know where you got this information."

"Of course not. Discretion is our middle name," Arthur says.

The men thank Casper once again, and the three end their conversation.

Casper sits down on one of the white leather armchairs against the far wall of his office. Propping his

feet up on the ottoman, he relaxes into the comfort of the chair. Then he rests his head on the back of

the seat and stares up at the ceiling. A sick feeling still churns in his gut. Taking a cheap shot at Cain's

career has failed to satiate the anger dwelling in his bones.

But he knows something that might help feed the beast. Moving over to his desk again, he begins the

execution of the second half of his plan. He locates the number of the Jefferson County DA's office.

"Yes. May I speak with Ephraim Frome, please?" Casper taps his fingers against the glass of his desk

while an assistant transfers his call.

"Frome speaking." The district attorney answers the phone sounding every bit as stressed as someone

trying a serial killer should be.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Frome. It's Casper Callaghan." He allows his accent to shine as he speaks. When

Karma first introduced them, Frome mentioned how charming he thought it made him sound.

"Oh, Casper. Hi." The faint shuffling of papers is heard on Frome's end. Then the background is quiet

again. It seems Casper has his full attention. "How are you?"

"I'm doing well. Listen, I know your time is valuable. So I'll keep this brief. I have a favor to ask of you."

"What is it?"

"Karma has been a bit stressed lately. She'll never admit it. But I think the Pollard trial is taking a toll on

her." Cash sighs, trying to impart the anxiety of a concerned husband over the phone. "I was hoping

you would consider assigning the case to someone else."

"Are you sure? Other than taking a few long lunch breaks, she seems pretty enthusiastic about it."

Casper has a good idea of how she's been spending those "long lunch breaks." She has the audacity

to criticize him for leaving work a couple of hours early when she's been polishing his brother's silver on

the state's dime. His resolve to wreck her world becomes even stronger.

"She's been suffering from insomnia and migraines. I'm afraid she's going to do serious damage to her

health." Reaching deep into his infinite skill set, he puts forth his best acting. "I know her work is

important. But ... I can't lose my wife, sir. Karma is ..." A few four-letter words flash through his head.

He quickly pushes them aside. "She's my everything."

"Say no more, Casper." He sighs. "I'm going to be losing my best weapon in this trial. But I'd rather

replace her now than put her health in jeopardy."

"Thank you, Mr. Frome."

Frome compliments Casper's concern for his wife's well-being and wishes him a good day. Now that

the legal equivalent of Shaq has been benched at the height of the big game, he is indeed going to

have a great day.

The rest of the workday is smooth sailing. He even volunteers to help a couple of his less efficient

associates get up to speed. Just before he's set to leave, a few late reports land on his desk. The extra

work keeps him glued to his computer well past his usual quitting time. But his underhanded schemes

today have given him an adrenaline boost. Finishing his work quicker than usual, he makes the drive

home.

When he arrives at the house around seven, Karma's waiting for him. She's seated in her Benz,

stilettos tapping the acid-washed concrete of the driveway. A seed of regret sprouts on his shoulder as

he exits his vehicle.

He meant to have her car towed to the nearest junkyard last night. Once it was reduced to a block of

scrap metal, he was going to have the remnants of the luxury vehicle sent over to her office. The

emblem would have made a nice keychain. Sighing at his missed opportunity, he breezes past the car

as if he hasn't seen her.

"Casper," she shouts as he passes. He continues to the front door without even a glance in her

direction. She catches up to him and raises her voice. "I know you hear me, goddammit."

When she resorts to pelting her fists against his broad back, he turns to face her. "May I, help you?"

"You told Frome to take me off the Pollard case?" Casper nods. The wounded and bewildered look on

her face makes him smile. Tears begin to glisten in her eyes. "How could you do this to me?"

He scoffs and places his thumb on the keypad of the door lock. Though tempted to leave her sniffling

on the porch, he allows her to enter the house behind him. This bumbling version of Karma might be

entertaining. And he could always use a good laugh.

"When did you get the locks changed?" she asks, examining the new high-tech security mechanism.

"First thing this morning." He heads for his haven in the great room and she follows. Sensing that he

might want to be a little inebriated for this conversation, he pours himself a drink.

"So this is what we're going to do, Casper, hmm?" She shakes her head and shrugs. "Treat each other

like strangers after all these years?"

"You have Capone's balls coming in here acting like I'm the bad guy." He smirks at her and takes a sip

of his scotch. "Karma gets a little taste of her own medicine and it's too bitter for her."

"I never fucked with your career."

"No, just my brother. So that's okay, right?"

"Oh, cry me a river, Cash." She advances toward him, pressing her finger into his chest. "This

preschool bullshit stops now."

"You're hardly in any position to be making demands, sweetheart." He glares down into her doe eyes. "I

still have those videos."

That seems to remind her to take a couple of metaphorical and physical steps back. He walks away

from her and settles onto the couch. Taking another long sip of his drink, he turns on the flat screen. He

must have left it on a network channel last night because the evening news is on. He leaves it there.

Maybe it will provide some distraction from the banshee in the room with him.

"All right." She steps in front of him and folds her arms over her chest. "What will it take to make things

okay between us?"

"Nothing short of time travel could reverse this damage," he states dryly, trying to look through her at a

pair of newscasters on the screen.

"I'm serious." Karma takes a seat next to him and forces him to look at her. Her eyes dart back and

forth at a crazed pace. "A divorce is out of the question. I will not admit that defeat."

"You know, counselor." Cash glances over at her, contempt written all over his face. "I can get a divorce

without your signature."

"I also know you wouldn't do that to me." She slides closer to him and places her hand on his thigh.

"Deep down you still love me."

A quick pain travels through his chest. He clears his throat and removes her hand from his leg. Without

looking in her direction, he mutters an answer. "Don't flatter yourself."

"Look, do whatever you need to do. Sleep with whoever you want. I don't care as long as we're still

husband and wife." When he doesn't respond, she decides to sweeten the pot. She leans in to whisper

in his ear. "You could even fuck Arden."

"She has nothing to do with this," he says through clenched teeth.

"But she's what you really want." She props her arm on the back of the sofa and crosses her legs

toward him, allowing her long limbs to brush against his. "Let's face it, Cash. If I hadn't slept with Cain

first, you would have cheated on me with her."

That may well be true. But that's not the reality they're dealing with at the moment. Besides, Karma has

been fucking Cain for over a year. He just met Ardi. And if Karma were up to snuff, he might not have

even given another woman a second look.

"Keep telling yourself that if it helps you sleep at night." He leaves her on the sofa to refresh his drink.

"It's the truth, honey."

"Isn't there a broomstick somewhere with your name on it?" Leaning his back against the bar, he glares

at her over the rim of his glass. "Maybe you should get the hell out of my house now. Wouldn't want

you to miss that full moon tonight."

Before Karma can spout the comeback that's poised on her lips, something on the news captures his

attention. She also takes notice of what has him mesmerized.

"Daughter of former senator Mitchell and owner of popular bakery Soho Sugar, Arden Stone, was

arrested this afternoon on charges of possession and child endangerment. Mrs. Stone was taken into

custody after an anonymous call was made to Child Protective Services early this morning."

Casper moves closer to the television, worry wrinkling his brow. A picture of Arden in handcuffs lights

on the high-def screen. He blinks several times, unable to believe the scene before his eyes.

"A search of the Stone household turned up drug paraphernalia. However, no other evidence of drug

abuse by Mrs. Stone or her husband has been identified. The validity of the allegations is still being

investigated."

"Well, looks like little miss sugar and spice is anything but nice." Karma sits back and smirks at the

footage of Arden being escorted into the police station.

Casper ignores her and scrambles to find his mobile. Her number is still in his recent contacts, so his

search is a quick one. The phone rings until her voicemail picks up. Cursing underneath his breath, he

hangs up and tries again. This time it rings twice, before her voicemail answers. He tries one more time

and it goes straight to her voicemail after one ring. Finally, he decides to leave her a message.

"Arden, I'm sorry about earlier today. I got carried away. Just please call me back ... I just want to know

that you're okay." He ends the call and stares at it, feeling more helpless than an umbrella in a

snowstorm.

When he turns around again, Karma is standing right behind him. She looks him up and down, tapping

her heel on the hardwoods. "What happened with Arden today?"

"Nothing that concerns you." Casper rushes from the room and heads for the front door.

"Did you fuck her, Cash?" Karma follows him, continuing to question the reason he felt the need to

apologize to Arden. "Did you?"

He ignores her and grabs his keys from the decorative plate on the foyer table. As he's reaching for the

doorknob, his phone rings.

Recognizing the number flashing across the screen, he can't answer it quick enough. "Arden?"