Commander Avocado's sweep was thorough, but not thorough enough.
I'm sitting on the floor in my bathroom, a bottle of cough syrup in hand. It was prescribed to Kendall, but she hardly used it. Haas probably looked at the first ingredient—a harmless expectorant—and let it slide. I flip the bottle over, shaking the contents. This puppy has enough codeine in it to take down a Bengal tiger.
Poor Cabrera.
Do I really want to do this to him? He's been so much nicer than Haas. He treats me like a person, as opposed to a subordinate. He shook my hand when we were introduced, and his smile was genuine. It could be because we're closer in age, but I think he just has a kind spirit. He even told me to call him Ed.
I already missed drinks with my sister last night because of Haas's intervening. Although, I suppose my absence worked in Arabella's favor. My mind wavers, going back on forth like weights on a scale.
Am I seriously going to drug Ed so I can go to a party? It's my own party, and I should be allowed to attend it, but still... I don't think I have it in me. The only thing I didn't account for in my escape plan was the limitations of my conscience.
I sigh with remorse, returning the cough syrup to the medicine drawer. I rise from my seat on the floor, adjusting the fit of my leggings. In the bedroom, my phone begins to buzz. I cross the space, scooping it off the dresser. It's my assistant, Chelsea. She knows I'm taking a break before proposing the bill to the Senate, so this will be important.
"Hello?" I answer.
"Sorry, Jos!" she exclaims, sounding frantic. "I know you're probably getting ready for your party, but this is super important, and I thought you'd like to—"
"Chels," I say, drawing out her nickname. "Take a breath, and tell me what's going on."
"The ship hit a wave!" she wails.
I stare at my reflection in the mirror above my dresser, absentminded. "I'm sorry?"
"The cargo ship carrying the preordered units to Europe," she explains, speaking fast. "It hit a rogue wave. The crew is fine, but they lost a few containers. Ours was one of them."
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My knees threaten to buckle. I sit on the edge of my bed, doing the math. We had five thousand units from our bondage collection being delivered to Europe. At roughly five hundred per unit, that's two point five million dollars sinking to the bottom of the Atlantic. Not to mention, the impact those rusty shipping containers will have on oceanic acidification. And the slew of disgruntled customers.
Oh, God...
I rub my fingertips into my forehead, blowing air out slowly.
"I'm leaving now," I tell Chelsea. "Meet me at the warehouse, then we'll go to headquarters."
