Page 102 of Playing His Game

“Owed! What have you ever done to earn respect? Other than be born with a silver spoon so far up your ass, you can taste it? You’ve never worked an honest day in your life?—”

“Neither have you!”

“Because you won’t let me!”

“Now’s your chance! Think you’re better than us? Want to work an honest day? Well, have at it. You can be like everyone else—no support from us.”

Mo scoffed, though his heart was racing now as panic took hold. They were finally doing it—cutting him off.

“Get out of the house.”

Mo was about to be homeless. He had no job, no experience, no references. No access to the wealth he too had grown up with. Only confirmation that his parents’ love had never been unconditional. “Gladly! Like I want to live on your dirty money any longer.”

Mo spun toward the door, eager to get away. He couldn’t stand the sight of them.

“And, Moritz?”

His feet stuttered, but Mo kept moving, chin up. Any last word from Orson would be aimed to hurt.

“I’ll be sending a locksmith around first thing in the morning, so do be quick.”

Mo slammed the door behind him.

Daisy watched him with compassionate eyes. “Hurry up, love, before he tells me to fetch security.”

Mo gave her a shaky smile and speed walked—he didn’t run, herefusedto run—to the elevators.

He didn’t break down until he’d made it off the DPP&H lot. Then he pulled into the closest parking space he could find and called Sage.

“Mo, oh my God, I just saw the—Whathappened?”

“I’m officially persona non grata,” he gasped between shallow breaths. What had he done?

“Mo, honey, deep breaths for me. In and out. In and out. That’s it.”

A few breaths later, Mo finally managed a shaky smile. “Thanks.”

“Any time. Now what happened?”

Mo gave them the condensed version.

“Shit.”

“And now I have a day—fuck, Sage, adayto get everything out of the house before the locks change and you know they won’t give a fuck about my stuff. They’ll say it’s their due because their money paid for it.”

“Mo, stop. Go home, start packing. Put stuff in garbage bags for now if you have to. You have a garage full of cars, so load them up.”

“And bring them where?”

“You did not just ask me that. Hon, go home. Get to work. I’m going to hang up and call Mom. They’ll be there ASAP.”

Get to work. Get towork. Jesus.

Mo didn’t have time to argue.

What did he have to pack first?

The answer became obvious when he opened the garage—the one he’d kitted out with professional-grade mechanic’s tools of all kinds. Except Mo didn’t have a single vehicle equipped to carry them. He could probably fit one of his rolling toolboxes in the back of the Jeep if he took out the seats, but where would he put them afterward? The seatsorthe tools? He couldn’t leave the tools in the car—not when he didn’t know where he’d be parking it. Especially since it didn’t have glass windows.