Page 3 of Dancing in the Dark

“Cato’s staying with Mia,” Arch adds. “Tim’s gonna move the rest of your shit in.” He pushes through the door and plants a noisy kiss on Minka’s lips. A second on her chin. A third on her jaw. “We might pull you in, but it’s the weekend, so we’ll see whatever we’ve got once we get there, then we’ll decide.”

“I’ll stay here and help unpack,” Aubree adds sweetly. “Try to get you organized so you can sleep here tonight.”

“Be safe, Detective.” Minka pushes onto her toes and returns Arch’s kisses with one of her own. “Stay in touch.”

“Will do.” He squeezes her ass and shares a flirty, secret wink just for her, then he turns on his boots and claps my shoulder on his way past. “Where I come from, being alone in a bedroom with the wives of two mobsters is how you get yourself dead. Move your ass, Fletch. Our case is already getting cold.”

3

SERAPHINA

Sunday nights for single, childless, pet-less, professional thirty-year-old women—in my case, anyway—means slathering revitalizing goop on my face, applying a fresh manicure and pedicure, shaving my legs, washing my hair, and acting like answering every question asked on Jeopardy is a high I could be content with.

I would totally win if I went on that show.

I won’t, though.

I cross my apartment and move into my kitchen, walking with the odd heel-step-wobble I perfected back in my teens after one too many ruined pedicures, and yanking my fridge open, I take out a three-quarters full bottle of sauvignon blanc and snatch a glass from the rack above. Twisting the bottle open and pouring until the rich fruity scent hits my senses, I glance over my shoulder at my chirping phone.

Text message. Text message. Email. Text message. Incoming call.

My phone is a hub for everything I do in a day, and, by extension, everything the mayor does, since former District Attorney Justin Lawrence is the guy currently occupying that prestigious seat. Fortunately for me, he swept me up from my job at the local morgue almost a year ago and made me his first line of defense in everything that happens at City Hall.

I can’t get through a single day without charging my phone at least twice. Not even on a Sunday. But there isn’t a single part of me that minds the buzzing notifications lighting up my screen, not when they’re about the Chinese ambassador soon visiting our city, or the black-tie event I’ve been planning for months already.

I re-cap the wine and set the bottle back in the fridge, then I pick up my glass and heel-step back to my living room, where my couch is basically my base of operations when I’m not at the office, the coffee table is covered with more research material than I ever compiled throughout my college days, and a long white charging cable snakes across the room, under my rug, and up to power my phone before it dies.

Setting my wine amongst the chaos, I pick up the information packet I’ve been working on and flip through the pages and profiles of every player we’ll host this week.

Ambassador Zhao is a fifty-three-year-old diplomat, married once, no divorces, one child, and zero drama as far as the internet knows. He’s bringing a handful of staffers with him, much like Justin would bring me and a few others if roles were reversed.

I’ve read these notes so many times already, my brain struggles to focus. Instead, I glance across to my lit-up phone and catch each new notification that pops up.

Janine:

Justin will be an hour late to the office tomorrow. Nothing is wrong, but he’s been putting off a dental checkup for far too long, and I finally convinced him to go. He claims you’ll be cranky at him for his tardiness, so this is me telling you.

As his wife, I figure he shouldn’t be concerned about other women or their expectations on him. But I’m not a foolish woman, and as his assistant, I’m aware you hold considerable power.

Now you know. If he had other commitments tomorrow morning, I apologize for messing with them.

I snort.

Tapping the screen before it goes dark again, I type up a fast reply.

Me:

Noted. It boggles my mind that he concerns himself with my opinion on the matter. He has no other commitments tomorrow morning that can’t be moved. Thanks for letting me know. Have a great evening! x

I jump across to our shared calendar, input his ‘personal time’ block, and roll my eyes at the name I’m bumping out.

Moving back to my texts, I intend to search for the man I’m rescheduling, but there he is anyway, right near the top of my inbox, so I open those and quickly read what he sent mere minutes ago.

Anderson Markum:

I’d like an extra hour with Justin if you can make it work. This new deal is complicated, Sera, and as Deputy Legal Counsel for the Port Authority, it’s my job to ensure things go smoothly.

I have us down for first thing tomorrow, but I’ve cleared out my entire morning, so if you could squeeze me in for a few hours, that’d be perfect.