ceiling.
Candy’s eyes met hers in the mirror. “I’m just trying to look out for you.”
Olivia noticed for the first time that Candy Cane’s blue eyes were far sharper than she’d realized. Shrewd. Warm. The dancer couldn’t be older than thirty or thirty-one, but she exuded a maternal aura that made Olivia want to launch herself into Candy’s arms and let the other woman comfort her, the way her mother used to do before she got too weak for even the gentlest of embraces.
“What does he have on you?”
The out-of-the-blue inquiry slammed into her like a punch to the gut. “Wh-what?” she sputtered.
“I’d like to be your friend, if you’ll let me. You can talk to me.”
“I don’t know what you think is going on, but—”
“The shadows in your eyes,” Candy replied. “I still see them.”
The temptation to confide in the woman was so strong she nearly blurted out every last detail, but then her mouth snapped shut. For all she knew, the dressing room was wired for sound and Vince was listening to every word. This was a trick. Vince must have put the dancer up to this. He’d caught on to the charade and now he was using Candy to extract a confession from her. So he could punish her.
“Then you’re seeing things,” she said coldly. “Because the only thing Vince has is my heart.” With that, Olivia ended the conversation by marching toward the rack of costumes and keeping her back to Candy.
Several minutes later, Olivia’s suspicions were confirmed when she passed by the woman’s station and spotted Candy texting on her BlackBerry.
Checking in with Vince and typing out every word that had just been exchanged, no doubt.
Friend, her ass.
* * *
Nothing beat New York pizza. Trevor couldn’t deny that as he wolfed down the last slice of the extra-large pie he’d devoured all by his lonesome. Man, he was piling on the carbs lately, but then again, he was burning them just as fast now that he’d begun working out again. It felt good to be at the top of his game.
Wiping his mouth with a napkin, he glanced at D, who was standing by the railing staring at the skyscrapers in the distance, then at Luke, who was smoking a cigarette on the other side of the table. Although they’d been on the terrace for the past hour, the conversation had been scarce, and Trevor was kind of grateful for the silence.
He couldn’t get Isabel off his damn mind. Which was nothing new, seeing as he’d had Isabel on the brain for the past six months.
Yet now that he’d seen her in person, his preoccupation with the woman disturbed him on a whole other level. His reasons for wanting to contact her had been purely about making amends, and that was exactly what he’d done earlier—as much as she’d let him anyway. So theoretically speaking, she shouldn’t be on his mind anymore. He’d apologized. She’d accepted. End of story.
Except it didn’t feel like anything had ended—it felt like the beginning of something, and he had no clue what to make of that.
Swallowing a sigh, he tossed his napkin in the pizza box and closed the lid. He was just reaching for his bottle of Bud Light when his phone chimed to signal an incoming text.
Speak of the devil.
“Morgan?” Luke asked, leaning forward to stub out his cigarette in the ashtray.
Trevor shook his head. “Isabel.”
“What does she have to say?”
“See for yourself.”
He tossed the BlackBerry to Luke, who peered at the display and read the text aloud. “Vet Cora Malcolm. Something fucked up happening at this club . ”
Luke’s resulting frown matched Trevor’s, who was wishing Isabel had been more forthcoming with the details. They already knew Angelo ran drugs out of that upstairs suite of his, so what other fucked-up thing could be happening over at the Diamond Mine?
D left his place by the railing and joined them at the table, plopping his big body in a chair. Their resident asshole hadn’t said much to anyone since he’d made his
Candy’s eyes met hers in the mirror. “I’m just trying to look out for you.”
Olivia noticed for the first time that Candy Cane’s blue eyes were far sharper than she’d realized. Shrewd. Warm. The dancer couldn’t be older than thirty or thirty-one, but she exuded a maternal aura that made Olivia want to launch herself into Candy’s arms and let the other woman comfort her, the way her mother used to do before she got too weak for even the gentlest of embraces.
“What does he have on you?”
The out-of-the-blue inquiry slammed into her like a punch to the gut. “Wh-what?” she sputtered.
“I’d like to be your friend, if you’ll let me. You can talk to me.”
“I don’t know what you think is going on, but—”
“The shadows in your eyes,” Candy replied. “I still see them.”
The temptation to confide in the woman was so strong she nearly blurted out every last detail, but then her mouth snapped shut. For all she knew, the dressing room was wired for sound and Vince was listening to every word. This was a trick. Vince must have put the dancer up to this. He’d caught on to the charade and now he was using Candy to extract a confession from her. So he could punish her.
“Then you’re seeing things,” she said coldly. “Because the only thing Vince has is my heart.” With that, Olivia ended the conversation by marching toward the rack of costumes and keeping her back to Candy.
Several minutes later, Olivia’s suspicions were confirmed when she passed by the woman’s station and spotted Candy texting on her BlackBerry.
Checking in with Vince and typing out every word that had just been exchanged, no doubt.
Friend, her ass.
* * *
Nothing beat New York pizza. Trevor couldn’t deny that as he wolfed down the last slice of the extra-large pie he’d devoured all by his lonesome. Man, he was piling on the carbs lately, but then again, he was burning them just as fast now that he’d begun working out again. It felt good to be at the top of his game.
Wiping his mouth with a napkin, he glanced at D, who was standing by the railing staring at the skyscrapers in the distance, then at Luke, who was smoking a cigarette on the other side of the table. Although they’d been on the terrace for the past hour, the conversation had been scarce, and Trevor was kind of grateful for the silence.
He couldn’t get Isabel off his damn mind. Which was nothing new, seeing as he’d had Isabel on the brain for the past six months.
Yet now that he’d seen her in person, his preoccupation with the woman disturbed him on a whole other level. His reasons for wanting to contact her had been purely about making amends, and that was exactly what he’d done earlier—as much as she’d let him anyway. So theoretically speaking, she shouldn’t be on his mind anymore. He’d apologized. She’d accepted. End of story.
Except it didn’t feel like anything had ended—it felt like the beginning of something, and he had no clue what to make of that.
Swallowing a sigh, he tossed his napkin in the pizza box and closed the lid. He was just reaching for his bottle of Bud Light when his phone chimed to signal an incoming text.
Speak of the devil.
“Morgan?” Luke asked, leaning forward to stub out his cigarette in the ashtray.
Trevor shook his head. “Isabel.”
“What does she have to say?”
“See for yourself.”
He tossed the BlackBerry to Luke, who peered at the display and read the text aloud. “Vet Cora Malcolm. Something fucked up happening at this club . ”
Luke’s resulting frown matched Trevor’s, who was wishing Isabel had been more forthcoming with the details. They already knew Angelo ran drugs out of that upstairs suite of his, so what other fucked-up thing could be happening over at the Diamond Mine?
D left his place by the railing and joined them at the table, plopping his big body in a chair. Their resident asshole hadn’t said much to anyone since he’d made his
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