Turning, I walked back down the hall. “I’m calling Tennyson,” I said over my shoulder. “I think he has time to come get you this afternoon.”
Jack didn’t say anything for a moment. Instead, he raked me up and down, those arms crossed over his transparent chest again.
“Running away?” he finally asked.
“Not a chance.”
He clicked his tongue. “Someday, Chiara D’Angelo, you’re going to decide to grow up.”
I bit back my instinctual response.Yeah, well, you too, buddy.
You. Too.
THREE
Florence, Italy
June 2017
About One Year Later
Chiara D’Angelo
Ms. D’Angelo, we’re looking for an official comment from D’Angelo Enterprises regarding Jack Knight-Snow. Could you please provide us with something?”
I rolled my eyes at the female voice drifting over speaker phone in the car.
“I’m sorry, Ms. . . . ?” My voice trailed off in a question mark.
I shifted down to first gear, carefully pulling around a group of drunk tourists stumbling across the dark street.
“White. Candace White fromTrending Now—Hollywood Edition.”
“Right. You do realize that there is a nine-hour time difference between Los Angeles, California and Florence, Italy?”
Silence.
“Uh . . . yes.” The clacking of computer keys.
I helped her along. “It’s after midnight here, Ms. White—”
“Candace. But you can call me Candy. That’s Candy with a ‘C’ not a ‘K.’”
Of course. No surprise there.
“Candy. So though I understand your interest in this matter, I would greatly appreciate you calling back during our regular business hours.”
I turned left and then right, winding my way deeper into the labyrinth of residential streets that sprawled outward from central Florence.
Candy sighed on the phone. “Look, I know it’s late there. But I’m just an intern here, and I really need this statement before closing time today. Could you do me a favor just this once?”
Please.
“Does that clueless intern line work?”
Another long pause.
“Sometimes.”
