“Nothing.” She says in a panic. “I’m just going to go change.”
She spins and runs for the stairs, the sheet clenched white-knuckled in her grip.
“The fuck, Lowell!” Lance hisses.
“She might not have heard everything.”
“As if, you saw how quickly she fucking ran from you.”
My phone starts to ring and I look down to see Scott’s number lighting up my screen. Lance takes the phone and steps towards the elevator.
“Fix that.” He eyes the stairs. “Make her keep her mouth shut.”
I wait for what feels like hours for her to reappear. My hands pulling at my scalp as I fight to find the right words.
How do I explain this?
She scurries from the room and spots me instantly, flinching before she schools her features.
My eyes blaze through her as she pulls her shoulders back, and I watch her put on a front, walking down the stairs, then moving past me and towards the doors.
“It’s not what you think,” I rush out, and I don’t know if it’s the panic in my voice, but something makes her pause.
“How do you know what I am thinking?” she asks, jutting out her chin.
“I need your word…” Shit. What the fuck is her name?
“Tara,” she snaps, finishing for me. “Fucking pig.”
“Tara, right. Sorry. What you heard it wasn’t what it sounded?—”
“I won’t tell anyone,” she assures me, and my shoulders drop in relief at the same time her lip curls.
“But not for nothing,” she utters.
“Right, you want money.” I look her up and down and her face reddens, her fists clenched at her sides.
“You used me tonight, and now I want to fuck you where it will hurt. I want money, and that.”
She points over my shoulder, and I turn, my eyes locking on my mother’s piano. “No.”
Not a chance in hell.
“Oh, you think you have a say here? I could go to the police, you know.”
She’s brazen. I’ll give her that. Most women would be out of here running, but I’m pretty sure I have Satan’s spawn standing in front of me.
Lance told me to sort this, to make her go away quietly.
“How much? Name your price.”
I see the spark in her eye, and I curse myself.
“I will send a courier, Monday morning at nine. If the door isn’t unlocked, I will—and I mean it. I will go to the police.”
“You stupid bitch.”
She shrugs, smiling sweetly. “Stupid bitch…” She holds up one hand, then the other. “Murderer.”
