“Right. Well, I’m glad that Isla will be okay. How’s Olivia’s arm?”
“Oh, Liv’s had her money’s worth. Has milked it rotten, now Isla will as she’s ended up with stitches.” Clio reached into her purse and pulled out a cardholder. She slipped one out and offered it.
“That’s my personal number. If anything happens, let me know, we’ll get you what you need,” Clio said.
“Babe!” Chance called, and Clio glanced over her shoulder.
“Thanks again for everything, including being nonjudgmental. You’d be surprised how many look down their noses at us,” Clio stated, before hurrying off.
“Clio seems nice,” I murmured inanely as Teagan approached.
“Clio gave you a personal card?” Teagan asked.
“Yeah?”
“That means something. Chance’s old lady wouldn’t give her number to anyone to call. Guess how many people try to make friends with Clio to secure a spot in the club?”
“Seriously?”
“Baby, Hellfire MC is stinking rich. Loads of women have tried to trap one or another of the brothers. If they get old lady status, they’ve got it made. They’d kill for a direct line to Clio. The old ladies of Hellfire are cliquey and stick to their own. Nobody from outside gets into their tight circle. Well, not unless you’re from another club. Why do you think Clio gave you the card?”
“No idea, Teagan, but I’m not likely to use it.”
“Your ex is part of Hellfire MC.”
That wasn’t a question from Teagan but a statement, and I nodded in agreement. It didn’t matter; I’d never call Clio for anything. Hellfire MC and I wouldn’t cross paths again.
Harlequin
This was as boring as watching paint dry. The woman opposite chatted on about all things ‘Heather’ while I sat here pretending to listen. So far, I’d heard about her fluffy dog and cat,her babies, then about the neighbour who was jealous of her—God knows why. Then Heather swapped to her figure, seeking compliments, and then her job in a nail bar. Heather spoke a lot of words, but none meant anything.
Three times now she’d asked what I did, and when I mentioned I was a PI, Heather lit up. Further questions followed about what I earned, if I had any juicy gossip, and whether I could keep an eye on the old lady down the road. That poor woman’s crime was that she sat on the porch and watched life go by. Apparently, that made her suspicious. Jesus.
Once I’d given curt answers, Heather decided the world revolved around her and her stupid giggle. Why did women have to act like this? It wasn’t attractive, and honestly, it was fuckin’ annoying.
“Harlequin, I asked what you thought if I dyed my hair a few shades paler,” Heather tapped her nails on the table and stared.
Was I supposed to reply?
“Um,” I muttered.
“I agree. I don’t think it will harm either. Now the question is how much lighter should I go?” How did Heather consider me agreeing with her from a single ‘um?’ Someone save me! My prayers were fulfilled when my phone rang, and I saw it was Mom.
“Heather, sorry, I need to get this. It’s my mother,” I said, cutting into the incessant chatter.
Heather’s eyes narrowed. “But we’re on a date.”
“And this is my mom,” I snapped, and Heather reared back. Fuck her, I answered the call.
“Stone, am I disturbing anything?”
“No, what’s wrong?”
Heather huffed, and I watched as she placed her napkin on the table and sipped her wine.
“I was missing you,” Mom replied, and I barely managed to hide a smile.
“Oh no, Mom. That bad?” I asked, forcing concern into my voice. This was my lifeline, and I was taking it.
