Last Call

I dug my phone out of my pocket, shoving the white rectangular device to my ear, I groaned at the caller ID, but answered anyway.

"You had better have a good reason for interrupting me on this lovely Californian afternoon," I spat annoyingly.

A deep voice erupted from the other line of the phone, right before a hearty chuckle escaped from his mouth, "good to see you haven't changed, sis."

"He hasn't seen me in four years and he thinks he knows a guy?" I say, laughing at my attempt to tease him.

"Enough of the chitchat, get back to the point," I heard a deep voice that sent shivers right to my core in the otherwise silent background. I don't recognize the voice, but I could already tell he was probably the most compelling, sovereign individual you would meet.

It only peeked my interest to see a face to match the intonation.

I caught my brother clearing his throat, trying to act intimidating.

"Listen, sis, I need a favor. My entire reputation and the Ferrari is depending on you. You need to come to New York," he says in such a menacing tone. No doubt wanting to show off to his friend. He thinks I'll just do it? With nothing in return for me?

Why that son-of-a-bitch, literally, demands a favor? After he so recklessly gambled on me without my knowledge? He thinks that he is almighty and just because he got our parents corporation he calls the shots, just like that, and only to tell me that I need to do him a solid.

"No," I say sternly, "and if you ever contact me again Beckham, I will-"

"You don't have a choice here, "sis", you have no job, no house, but a mutt and a red Chevy named Callum. If you don't come willingly, well," he scoffs, the low raspy and angelic voice says, "I'll just have to come and get you, La Mia dolce," the voice that isn't my brother's whispers.