Текст книги "Fighting the Fall"
Автор книги: Jennifer Snow
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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 15 страниц)
Chapter 4
Parker glanced at the address she’d typed into her calendar on her phone, then the numbers on the building in front of her. “Excuse me, are you sure we are on Caly Way?” she asked the taxi driver.
He shot her a look in the rearview mirror. “I drive all over this city for a living.”
“Okay . . .” This was the right place. Wow, Ian hadn’t been kidding about the auditions being held at a community center. Located right in the middle of a residential neighborhood, across the street from a junior high school, it was the last place anyone would expect movie auditions take place. Probably a good thing, she thought. She hadn’t told anyone other than her grandmother and the guys at the gym about the role and in case she didn’t get the part, she was keeping her audition to herself.
How embarrassing would it be if her fellow costars knew she hadn’t even been able to secure a role in an indie film?
She took a deep breath as she paid the taxi driver and stepped out into the warm October air. The sun was blazing overhead and a mild southern breeze made the palm trees lining the street sway back and forth. She closed her eyes, enjoying the humidity on her skin—Vegas’s dry heat couldn’t compare. Overall, she felt better just being back on the coast. And she was ready for this audition.
She knew the script by heart and she was ready to embody the complexity of Jessica “The Crusher” Carlisle. In a week, she’d learned more than she’d ever thought possible from Dane about fighter stance and moves, and she’d noticed muscles forming in her arms and legs—if she looked hard enough. Not a great improvement, but it was a start. If she could do that in a week, she could easily look the part before they started filming, she reassured herself.
Now, she just had to convince the director.
Opening the door labeled with a handwritten sign that read AUDITIONS THIS WAY, she went inside and followed more signs to the back of the community center. The place was empty except for a group of teenage boys in the main gymnasium playing basketball and they didn’t even notice as she passed. She scanned the hallways for a restroom, but didn’t see one, so she continued following the signs. She stopped when she reached a group of women waiting outside the closed door of what she assumed was the audition room.
About eight of them—all younger than her—were busy reading the script. She could quickly see that Ian had been right about the lack of big names at the audition—there was no one she recognized. They all flipped to various scenes, closing their eyes and mumbling and mouthing the lines and no one looked at her, which gave her time to study them . . . and get nervous. Really nervous. All of the women had athletic builds—strong-looking arms and shoulders, thick thighs, and well-defined calves. There wasn’t a B cup or bigger among the group and flat, tight asses leaned against the walls.
She looked nothing like them. No wonder they hadn’t even glanced her way. They probably thought she was lost. She studied their choices of audition clothes. Capri workout leggings, shorts, racerback tank tops, and runners . . . They looked the part.
She’d worn a slim-fitting suit. Her lucky suit—the one she always wore to auditions, but she was starting to question her wardrobe choice. Maybe she should remove the jacket at least, she thought, biting her lip . . . but it hid her unathletic build.
The audition room door opened; another woman, plain and muscular, left the room, and the next one went in. This had to be the most relaxed casting call she’d ever attended and she was the only big-name actress there . . . yet she was sweating and pacing nervously.
She couldn’t remember ever being so anxious about an audition or wanting a role so badly. Then again, she’d rarely had to work as hard to get one. Her career had benefited from her grandmother’s legacy on film and then most recently from her involvement with Brantley. This time she really was completely on her own.
That’s a good thing, she reminded herself, reaching into her Gucci bag for her copy of the script . . . Suddenly, she wasn’t so sure . . .
Too soon, the hallway had cleared out and, as the last woman exited the audition room, Parker took several deep breaths. She could do this. She’d been auditioning for movies since she was nine years old.
None had ever felt so important.
“They are ready for you,” the young woman said as she passed, giving her an odd look—one part recognition, one part disbelief.
Parker recognized her as a woman she’d seen training at Cage Masters the week before . . . Damn. Real fighters were auditioning. She moved past her quickly before the look destroyed any confidence she had. “Thanks,” she mumbled, going into the room.
Two men in their late twenties sat behind a long, fold-out plastic table. Casting call sheets and actor photos were laid in front of them. They took her in as she entered, their expressions unreadable.
She swallowed hard, her hands pressed against her thighs to keep them from shaking. “Hi. I’m Parker Hamilton.” Her attempt to sound confident failed as her voice creaked out barely above a whisper.
The first man nodded and smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You made it. Great.”
Really? Didn’t sound great. Had they been hoping she wouldn’t actually show up? Her spine stiffened and she stood taller. Well, she was here and she was going to give them the audition of the day.
“I’m the director, Kilroy Clarke, and this is the film’s screenwriter, Dale.” He gestured to the man beside him, who nodded briefly at her. “You can pick a scene and start whenever you’re ready. Dale will read with you. Just let him know which page to start,” Kilroy told her, looking through the lens of the video camera on his cell phone they were using to record the auditions.
They were using a cell phone to record the auditions and she was nervous? All of a sudden, her professionalism and years of experience in the business took over and her self-doubt vanished, taking the pesky nerves with it.
She was Parker freaking Hamilton. She had this.
* * *
The sweat pouring off Connor as he lay shaking on the couch was more than Tyson had ever experienced wearing a sweat suit in a hundred-degree sauna. The puke bucket next to him had already been emptied several times in the last twenty-four hours and he was amazed there was anything left to the man withering away to nothing as he suffered through the most intense withdrawal symptoms. The first four or five days had been minor in comparison. He’d have thought the reverse would be true, but he suspected the extra stash of cocaine Connor had had on him had finally disappeared and now the real detoxing had started.
Tyson watched from the kitchen, where he drank a protein shake, feeling an odd mixture of hope and hopelessness as his brother made it through this tough time. He’d kept his word for the past week. He hadn’t left the apartment, all of his paraphernalia he’d been using to prepare and inject his heroin were gone . . . Now, they just had to ride out the storm.
He shook his head. No. Connor had to ride out the storm.
So far, his brother had been doing this on his own. True to his word, Tyson wasn’t getting involved. Other than paying down his brother’s debt to keep the wolves at bay for another few weeks, this was all on Connor.
He had to focus on training. Too much of that week had been wasted on things that didn’t concern him. First his brother’s issues . . . and then Parker.
His thoughts went to the blonde, whose audition was scheduled for that day.
He had to admit, she’d surprised him with her dedication to the grueling workouts Dane had put her through. He was reluctantly impressed, which didn’t happen often.
He wondered if she’d get the part. And whether or not he’d see her back in his gym . . .
He hoped not. She was proving even more distracting than he’d thought she’d be. Even when she wasn’t there, she was on his mind and that needed to stop. Fast.
Connor coughed and his eyes opened. He offered a weak smile as their eyes met. “How’s the training going?” he asked, his voice rough.
“It’s fine.” It would be better if he could push all of this to the back of his mind and actually start giving it 100 percent again. He grabbed his gear and headed toward the door then stopped. “If you want to go lay on my bed . . .”
His brother shook his head. “Nah, the couch is fine. Thanks, man.”
Tyson simply nodded as he left the apartment.
* * *
Boarding the plane back to Vegas the next morning, Parker wasn’t sure how to feel. She’d thought the audition had gone well, but the director had given her little to go on. Both men had been polite. They’d watched her scene with interest and let her stop on her own, instead of cutting her short, but who knew what they were thinking? She sighed as she readjusted her overnight carry-on bag on her shoulder, clutching her cell phone in her hand as she walked the ramp toward the plane. Kilroy Clarke had said they would have a decision that day, and she’d never been so nervous waiting for a call from Ian.
In five minutes, she’d have to turn off the phone while in flight and it would be the longest hour and a half of her life. Cell phone signals really didn’t interfere with flight instrumentation, did they? She took her window seat in first class and tucked her bag under the seat in front of her. Sitting on the edge of the chair, she stared out the window, replaying the audition in her mind.
She’d done well. She’d delivered her lines with ease and she’d felt a connection to the character. Nerves may have gotten to her a little, but it was just because she wanted this part. Though Ian hadn’t been kidding when he’d said the film was low-budget. Kilroy had told her they were hoping to come in under five hundred thousand, which normally wouldn’t even cover her salary. He said once filming started, they were hoping to shoot the whole thing in five weeks and to keep the set locations to a minimum. There wasn’t money allocated in the budget to pay for her accommodations and transportation back to LA, should she get the part. She would be out of pocket for all of that. And the salary they were offering the actors was . . . not what she was used to. But none of it mattered.
She knew in her gut this film was going to be great.
The sound of a cell ringing made her heart race, but a quick glance revealed it wasn’t hers. The ringing came from economy seating, just behind the first-class curtain divider.
“Hello?” a woman’s voice answered immediately after the first ring. “I’m boarding the flight now . . . yeah . . . okay . . .” Her tone went from excitement to disappointed so quickly, Parker couldn’t resist turning and leaning slightly to see the woman. The fighter from Cage Masters who’d been auditioning that day as well.
The look on her face said it all. She hadn’t gotten the part. Despite the fact this girl was her competition, Parker felt bad for her. She’d been in her shoes more than once. It sucked.
Though it did mean the directors were calling agents now . . .
Her knees bounced in the space between the seats as she willed her own phone to ring. Come on. The last of the passengers had boarded and the crew was walking the aisles, closing the overhead bins.
Behind her, she heard the girl say, “I’m not surprised they gave the part to her . . .”
Who? Who had they given the part to? She resisted the urge to turn around and ask her. Barely.
“Well if they think they can get more funding that way, of course they would cast her. She’s a recognizable name, even if she is totally wrong for the part.”
Her mouth went dry. As far as she could tell, she’d been the only recognizable name at the audition, and the one most would assume was wrong for the part. Her stomach turned as her phone vibrated in her hand first before Ian’s familiar ring tone started. All of a sudden, she wasn’t sure she wanted to answer. She was fairly certain it was good news, but was it? Not if she’d been given the part in the hope of attracting more funding.
“You’ll have to turn that off now, miss,” one of the flight attendants told her, passing her seat.
“Okay, just one second.” Answering the call, she said, “Hi. I’m on the plane, so I only have half a second.”
“You got the part!” Ian said enthusiastically.
She wished he’d called before she’d heard the other conversation. Now self-doubt destroyed the excitement she should be feeling. Once again, she couldn’t be sure she’d gotten a role based on her acting abilities and not some other reason. “That’s great.”
“Parker, do not tell me you’re reconsidering this,” he said.
“I’m not.”
“Then what’s wrong? I thought you’d be more excited.”
“I am . . . I . . . uh . . . I am,” she said forcing fake excitement into her voice.
“Great. Filming starts in seven weeks, so work your ass off at that gym . . .”
She nodded as the flight attendant signaled for her to hang up. “I will. I have to go, talk soon. Thanks, Ian.” Turning off the phone, she slid it into her carry-on and sat back in the seat as the plane started to taxi down the runway. She’d worked hard for this part. She deserved it, she told herself, but a nagging voice wouldn’t allow her to enjoy the moment.
Once again, she couldn’t be sure she’d gotten a role based on her acting abilities.
* * *
“You’re back,” Tyson said as Parker walked into the gym the next day.
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” She hated that his tone revealed nothing.
His mouth twisted slightly, but it wasn’t the full smile she’d seen the week before, a smile that had given her a glimpse into a completely different man. One she wanted to see more often. “Dane took his group for a run. He should be back soon. You can start warming up . . . or try to catch up with them.” He turned to walk away, but Parker reached out her hand to stop him.
His gaze flew to the point of contact and so did hers. For an instant, she couldn’t remember why she’d stopped him. “Um . . . I . . . thank you.” She let go of his arm. “For letting me train here.” She still wasn’t completely sure why he’d had the change of heart, other than the money was appealing, but she wasn’t about to ask questions. Now, more than ever, she needed the help.
He nodded before walking away.
She sighed. What a guarded, self-controlled man. He was, admittedly, one of the few men she’d ever met who hadn’t repeatedly hit on her. Sure, he’d made the comment about her being a distraction and a cock-tease the day they’d met, but obviously he hadn’t meant his dick. He seemed to go out of his way to avoid her.
“Hey, you’re back.” Dane’s voice behind her made her turn.
She smiled. “I got the part,” she said, feeling more excited than she had the day before. She realized it didn’t matter why they’d cast her—what mattered was that she was ready to prove to them they’d made the right decision.
Dane hugged her, picking her up off of the ground. “That’s great. We should celebrate.”
She hesitated. Was he asking her out? He hadn’t exactly hit on her the week before while training her, but she’d sensed an attraction there, as though it would only take a little encouragement from her to get him to ask her out. And the last thing she wanted was to get involved with her coach. This one, at least. But catching a glimpse of Tyson watching them from the corner of her eye, listening to their exchange, she nodded. “Okay, sure.”
“Great. We were all planning to go to ShadowDancers night club this evening to watch the PPV fights out of Japan. One of our former guys is fighting in one of the preliminary bouts.”
We? Now she was interested. “Sounds like fun. Um . . . who’s going, exactly?”
“Walker, Tyson, Bobby, and me, for sure . . . and maybe a few others, maybe some girlfriends.” He shrugged, as though only him being there should matter.
Unfortunately, it was one of the other attendees that made the evening out more appealing. “Okay, I’m in.”
* * *
“Can I get a club soda, please?” Tyson ordered later that evening. The Las Vegas nightclub was packed with fight fans there to watch that evening’s fight card and the place was standing room only. Their group was in the far corner, and he watched in amusement from the bar as his buddies flirted with several women from out of town who admittedly knew nothing about MMA. The perfect kind. They were easy to impress and they had no idea if the crap that came out of his mouth was true or not. Even from that distance, he could see the tall brunette eye-fucking him, ignoring Billy’s attempts to hit on her, but he turned away. For once, he wasn’t in the mood to steal her away from his buddy and he refused to read too much into that.
“You don’t drink?”
The sound of Parker’s voice behind him made his pulse quicken, especially since his thoughts had been hovering on her seconds before. He knew Dane had invited her and she’d said yes, but he hadn’t really expected her to show up. Had hoped she wouldn’t show up was probably the better word. Being around her threw him off. He couldn’t figure out why, and he certainly didn’t want to try to. She occupied enough of his mind already.
Slowly he turned, and immediately wished he had pretended not to hear her.
Damn. Despite every effort to keep his gaze on her face, his eyes drifted to the tempting body he’d evaluated with disdain the week before. She may not have the body of a fighter, but fuck, what a body. The mind-blowing cleavage and sexy curvy hips only further accentuated how tiny her waist was. And beneath the hem of her form-fitting white skirt, her tanned legs extended forever. She wasn’t tall, but her legs made up at least half of her height. Her blonde hair was curled that evening and free of the ponytail she wore at the gym, and he fought with the unwanted urge to tangle his fingers in its softness.
He wanted his head examined, that’s what he wanted.
“You’re here.”
She frowned. “Every time you say things like that, I never know if you’re happy about it or if my presence pisses you off.”
Neither did he. “Can’t it be somewhere in between?”
She placed a hand on her hip, her bright pink nail polish a stark contrast to the white, stretchy fabric. “I’d rather if I evoked a strong feeling one way or the other. It beats indifference.”
Oh, she evoked a strong feeling, all right. A stronger than safe urge to find a dark, secluded spot in the bar and put her up against the wall . . . “Think of it more as unexpected frustration.”
She seemed to weigh his words then smiled. “I can live with that.”
His eyes shifted to her mouth and her perfect set of white teeth. He wondered if every part of her was that perfect or if she hid a flaw somewhere. He hated that he wanted to get a closer look to try to find one.
She glanced at his nonalcoholic drink. “So. You don’t drink before an upcoming fight or not at all?”
“I drink sometimes, but rarely. I like to control what I’m putting in my body and I like to remain in control,” he said, leaning against the bar. He hadn’t always been that way, but the older he got, the more he understood the consequences of losing one’s inhibitions. He preferred to know exactly what he was doing and the mistakes he was about to make.
She climbed up onto the bar stool next to him and her skirt rose higher on her thighs as she sat. Her gaze was now level with his and she stared at his mouth as she asked, “Always?”
The taunting in her eyes and the smell of her expensive, soft perfume were a combination that fogged his mind. “What are you doing, Ms. Hamilton?” he asked, inching closer, resting one arm on the back of her chair, the other against the bar.
“Just trying to figure out if I’ve pegged you correctly, that’s all.” Her voice remained cool, confident, but the slight waver of her bottom lip told him his closeness had affected her.
But damn, his attempt to intimidate her had had an effect on him as well. He wanted to run his tongue along that lip and find out if she tasted even half as delicious as she smelled. The front of his jeans immediately felt tighter and against his better judgment, he rose to the bait. “What way is that?”
“Let’s see.” She paused as though she had to think about it, but he suspected she knew exactly what she thought of him. They’d both had plenty of time over the last week to evaluate and judge each other, formulate their own opinions. For whatever reason, he was interested in hearing hers. He leaned closer as she continued. “You are closed off and guarded. You act as though you’re not paying attention, but you see everything . . . You act like a tough guy around your fighters, pushing them to their breaking point, but you offer just enough encouragement that they work harder so as not to disappoint you.” She paused for a breath, folding one leg over the other and the fabric rose even further. Any higher and her entire thigh would be exposed. He moved slightly to block that view from any other set of male eyes. “How am I doing with my assessment so far?” she asked.
Pretty damn good. “Continue.”
“Outside of the gym you like to have fun, but you’re private about it. You prefer a party of two rather than a big crowd.” She touched his chest and her hand felt like a hot iron against his skin beneath the thin fabric of his black Punisher Athletics T-shirt. “My only question is, how do I get an invite to such a party?”
His pulse throbbed in his neck and pretty soon it wouldn’t be safe to try to walk across the bar. Why was it so much easier to protect himself against repeated shots to the head than it was to recover from her blatant flirtation?
Her index finger traced the neckline of his shirt, the soft, barely there touch sending shock waves along his spine as she waited for an answer.
Swallowing hard, he gripped her wrist tightly in his hand before saying, “Don’t kid yourself, Ms. Hamilton. You may think you know me . . . may even think you can handle me . . . but I also know you, and I’m not fool enough to take that on.” He picked up his drink and drained the contents. “If you’re looking for a party, Dane’s your guy.”
Without waiting for a reply that could easily sway his decision to walk away, Tyson headed toward the door. Several beautiful one-night-stand options caught his eye as he passed and he swore under his breath as his dick begged him to take any one of them home, but his unwanted house guest prevented any chance of that. “Fucking Connor. That cock-blocking son of a bitch,” he mumbled under his breath as he escaped outside.
* * *
Parker watched Tyson leave the bar, her heart echoing loudly in her ears. His back as he walked away from her was a familiar view—one she was starting to hate. She knew she’d had him for the briefest of seconds. The look in his eyes and his grip on her wrist had created a flurry of excitement in the pit of her stomach, caused a shiver of desire to run through her, and her common sense to abandon her. And she knew he felt it all too.
But, once again, he’d put on ice the heated tension simmering between them.
It frustrated her that she couldn’t figure him out. Sure she’d just talked a big game about having him pegged, but in truth, she knew nothing about him. And she wished she knew what was holding him back from acting on the attraction he couldn’t hide very well. The feel of his heart pounding beneath her hand and the bulge in the front of his jeans were quite obvious.
Accepting her drink from the bartender, she made her way toward the group.
Dane smiled when he saw her and let out a low whistle of appreciation.
At least someone appreciated her efforts that evening, she thought wryly.
“Hi, everyone,” she said, noticing a young woman next to Walker she’d seen around the gym a few times. “I’m Parker Hamilton,” she said, extending a hand toward the tall, pretty brunette.
“Grace Andrews. It’s so great to meet you,” she said sincerely. “I’ve seen you at the gym a few times, but you looked like you were in the zone so I didn’t want to interrupt.”
Parker laughed. “In the zone? More like trying not to pass out and asking myself what I’ve gotten myself into.”
Grace smiled. “I hear you’re learning to fight for a part in a movie, that’s exciting.”
Parker nodded, unsure how much to reveal. The official announcement that she had gotten the role hadn’t been made yet, and she wasn’t sure how much press and publicity this movie would actually get, so she said simply, “It’s a wonderful indie film.”
“My best friend and Walker’s sister, Kylie, is a casting director in Hollywood. She was so jealous when I told her you were coming out with us tonight. She’s a big fan.”
“Well, tell her I said thank you and that she can cast me in a movie anytime,” Parker said, only half joking, her irritation over Tyson’s easy dismissal disappearing in the warm welcome she experienced with the rest of the group.
Who needed Tyson anyway? she thought, sipping her wine. But despite her best efforts, she couldn’t erase their exchange moments before from her mind. He thought she couldn’t handle him . . . but she suspected the real reason he exercised such control around her was he wasn’t sure he could handle her.
“Where did Tyson go anyway?” Walker asked, as though reading her mind, glancing around the bar.
She sighed. “I scared him away,” she said with a small laugh.
Walker grinned. “He must have finally met his match. He’s not one to be scared off easily.”
“What’s his deal anyway? I know his dad was a champion boxer and fighting is his entire life, but he’s so wound up all the time.” She’d like to help him relax . . .
“That’s what makes him so great,” Dane said, climbing into the booth next to her. “He doesn’t allow any room for failure, never opens himself up to the possibility of getting hurt inside the octagon. He’s intense because he has to be.”
Walker nodded. “Tyson’s training camp is like a family. When a fighter is preparing for a fight, everyone bands around that fighter to offer support, encouragement, help with training . . . whatever the fighter needs. But Tyson’s different. He doesn’t need anything from anyone. It all comes from within himself and he needs to always maintain a certain level of control to stay on top.”
Wow, sounded like these guys knew their coach well. She nodded. “I guess I understand that . . .” Except the not needing anyone part. Tyson needed something, even if he didn’t know what that something was yet.
Grace patted her hand. “I wouldn’t sweat it. I’ve known Tyson for years and he’s always been this way—grumpy but loveable,” she said with grin.
She’d seen the grumpy part. When was the loveable side due to make an appearance?
* * *
The moment Tyson walked into his dark, silent apartment, something felt off. The hair lifted on his arms and his shoulders tightened. Keeping his back close to the wall, he reached for the baseball bat he kept near the door, but it wasn’t there.
Shit.
Flicking on the light, his feet froze and the muscles in his stomach and legs tightened, as though his fight-or-flight instincts were at odds. His coffee table and end tables lay on their sides, the glass top broken on one. His brass pole lamp lay resting against a wall, the shade torn, and several pictures in frames were smashed on the floor. He moved faurther inside and immediately felt the tip of a knife at his back.
Unarmed and caught completely off guard, he raised his hands to show they were empty, fighting the urge to grab the knife and turn this attack around. He had no idea how many others there were in his apartment or where Connor was. “What do you want?” he asked slowly.
The guy grabbed his shoulder and led him toward the bathroom, where another guy—big and bald, with a prison tattoo under his left eye, had Connor’s head in a bathtub full of water. His brother splashed his hands against the water and his legs jimmied on the floor.
“Hey! Let him up,” Tyson growled.
Tattoo face snarled and the guy at his back released him, but kept the knife pointed close to his body. He angled himself between the two men to keep an eye on both. Luckily the one with the knife was shorter, smaller, not as intimidating. But still, he still held the knife.
“Your brother owes us money,” the guy with the knife said.
Tyson’s eyes narrowed as he studied the men. They weren’t the same ones who’d come by the gym to pick up money the week before, and his gut clenched. “I thought we paid you,” he said through gritted teeth.
Tattoo face pulled Connor’s head out of the water. “You lied to your own brother?”
Connor shook his head, blinking the water out of his eyes, sputtering and trying to catch his breath as he said, “I owed money to more than one person.” He looked desperately, pleadingly at Tyson.
Fuck! “How much does he owe you?”
The man with the knife moved forward. “Five grand.” He traced the knife along Tyson’s stomach and Tyson tightened his muscles. “You know, it might be kind of fun to beat the crap out of the world champ anyway . . .”
His fighter instinct kicked in and his hands rose, but the edge of the knife pushing against his skin reminded him it wouldn’t be a fair fight.
“Leave Tyson out of this. I’ll get the money . . .” Connor said.
“Shut up, Connor. You have no money,” the guy at the bathtub said, hitting Connor’s head against the edge of the tub. A deep gash appeared immediately and blood dripped onto the floor.
Damn it! “Let him go and we can talk about getting you the money,” he said.
“If we let this loser go, we’ll never get our money. So here’s what’s going to happen,” the man with the knife said, grabbing Tyson’s shoulder again. “We’re going to go downstairs to the safe—the one in the gym Connor told us about—and you’re going to get five grand . . . or your brother will drown.”
“Look, I don’t have that kind of money in the safe.” He’d yet to cash Parker’s check for the next seven weeks of training. She’d insisted on paying the full amount, sticking with the high rate. No doubt so he wouldn’t change his mind about helping her at any point. The check was in his wallet still as he hadn’t felt right accepting that much money from her. But now, he had little choice. “I’ll need to go to a bank.”
