I Get Things Done

Leyla’s Pov

"Hey girl," Mira taps my shoulder. "Heard about your brother. Sorry about that."

"Linda and her big mouth," I mutter, slipping off my heels.

"What?"

I force a smile. “Nothing. Thanks but he’ll be out soon.”

Mira snorts. “I’d say ‘thoughts and prayers,’ but those don’t usually beat murder charges.”

I slowly turn to stare at her.

She lifts both hands immediately. “Okay, damn. Too soon.”

"Excuse you? Bitch, get out."

She laughs on her way to the door. “You got it."

The second she leaves, I let out a hard breath and lean closer to the mirror, dabbing at the corner of my lipstick before it smudges any further.

Unbelievable.

This bitch was not about to ruin my night.

I tighten my grip on the curling iron and drag it through another section of hair, forcing myself to breathe through the irritation. This night is already bad enough.

Then the door swings open again. I don’t bother turning around this time.

“Leyla!” a voice snaps over the music outside.

“You seriously need to learn how to knock before barging in like a possessed landlord, Mira,” I snap, dragging the curling iron through my hair.

“And if you came back to run your mouth again, save it. I’m already one bad vibe away from beating your ass tonight.”

"You will not speak to me like that."

I freeze. That's not Mira.

I spin around so fast the curling iron slips from my hand and slams onto the table.

Alora stands at the door. Pale, rigid and breathing too hard.

My stomach drops immediately.

Oh no. I already know that look.

I slowly shake my head before she can even speak.

“No,” I mutter quietly. “Please don’t start.”

“Of course you saw the news!" Alora explodes, her voice cracking. "Our brother is sitting in a cage downtown waiting to be slaughtered like a chicken and here you're getting ready for your fucking dance?”

She storms into the room, kicking an empty champagne bottle out of her way. “We need to pull our savings. Every dime. He needs a real defense lawyer. Not that bloody idiot they gave to him.”

“A lawyer won’t do shit, Alora!”

I grab the lipstick off my table, but my hands are shaking so badly it slips from my fingers and rolls under the table.

“Damn it!”

“Did you at least go see him?” she asks quietly.

That tone hits harder than the yelling.

I shove a hand through my hair and look away. "I was working, okay? I sent Linda. He's fine."

Alora lets out a short laugh that sounds almost cruel. “You sent Linda?” she repeats slowly. “He’s your brother, Leyla.”

Her eyes lock onto mine. “And he is not fine.”

Something twists painfully in my chest.

“You wanna know how I know?” she asks, a bitter little smirk pulling at her lips. “Because I actually went there.”

Typical Alora.

Always the reliable one. Always making me feel like garbage for not being the same.

“Why do I even bother?” she mutters. “I’ll get him out myself.”

“How?” I snap. “Do you even know who the Vales are?”

I laugh bitterly. “You seriously think some regular lawyer can beat the Vale family?” I laugh bitterly. “They own judges. They own cops. Hell, they probably own the building George’s being held in.”

Alora’s eyes narrow as she steps closer.

“Then what’s your plan, Leyla? Because this conversation or dancing isn’t helping anybody.”

I wipe a tear from my cheek, smudging my dark eyeliner. Then I straighten slowly, a dangerous resolve settling in me.

“I’ve got it,” I whisper. “Called his office. I have a meeting in an hour.”

Alora goes pale immediately. “Whose office?”

“Lucien Vale.” I grab my heels from the floor. “The son. The new CEO.” I shrug lightly, trying to sound calmer than I feel. “Apparently tonight’s gala was also some huge welcome party into the company for him. It’s been all over the blogs for days.”

She stares at me blankly for half a second, the way she always does whenever I bring up celebrity gossip or billionaire drama like it’s normal news. She never keeps up with this stuff.

“I’m going to make him a deal,” I continue. “Whatever he wants, if it gets George out, I’ll do it.”

"You're not going," Alora says, her voice dropping to a terrifying, quiet level.

I look up at her. “Watch me. I’m the twin that actually does things, remember?”

I grab my purse.

“You just write about them.”