“My restroom habits are none of your business, Miss Poole,” I say.
“They are when I get the feeling there’s something behind them.” She sets her mask on the sink. “What does he have you doing?”
“He?”
“Cute.” She nods. “Playing dumb isn’t a good strategy against the federal government. I haven’t received a call from you.”
Six minutes…
“I haven’t had the time.”
“I doubt that.” She steps closer. “What are you really doing here tonight, Miss Jane?”
“Trying to enjoy the mayor’s event.”
“You’re not on the guest list,” she says. “Neither is your boyfriend, but… I’m not concerned about that since that’s his typical M.O.”
“Is your M.O. randomly bothering strangers?”
“You even have his witty cadence.” She smiles again. “The sex must be really good.”
“It is.”
She arches a brow, and I recall Ryder’s advice.
“He hired me several weeks ago to pick up some things, and we ended up crossing the line,” I say. “I did a few other minor jobs for him and when he’s in town he fucks me and I fuck him back.”
She blinks.
“Should I put my hand behind my back now?” I ask. “Is that a crime?”
“Getting too close to this man will eventually lead to one,” she says. Then she turns on the faucet to wash her hands. “Now, tell me what job he has you doing tonight and I’ll give you an extension on a formal phone call.”
Silence.
“Oh my god!” A woman suddenly bursts through the door. “Someone help me, please! My husband collapsed, please!”
Miss Poole dries her hands and points at me. “Stay right there. I’ll be back.”
She leaves the bathroom, and my phone sounds in my purse.
Ryder
She won’t be back for a while.
Move.
Relieved, I quickly place the sticker and when I leave, I move around the small crowd of people addressing a man on the floor. A man who looks… a lot like one of Ryder’s guards.
I hold back a laugh and make my way to number eighteen and complete it with ease.
Nineteen and twenty are handled between my favorite bass interludes, and Chester nods at me in approval from across the ballroom.
There’s no final text from Ryder, so I hang back and watch the dance floor.
As couples twirl and sashay to the music, I can’t help but remember the last time I was at an event like this—when I caught Nate cheating. And although this is different, my inability to make a scene remains the same…
I’m sippingmy fourth glass of champagne, constantly checking and rechecking my phone for a message that says it’s okay for me to leave.
