She doesn’t answer the first time. I call twice more.
“Cara, I’ve missed your voice, stellina.” It’s odd that she’s called me Cara when she’s the one person in my life who insists on using Lydia, but I don’t put much thought into it. Fifty-seven minutes and counting until I see Talent again. “Tell me, how are you? How’s Camilla? We haven’t had a chance to speak much, I’m sorry.”
“Good,” I say. I get out of the tub. Sheets of water fall from my body, soaking the cotton rug under my feet. “The gala was—”
“We’ll come back to that later,” she says suddenly.
I wrap myself in a towel and stand in my closet, unsure if I should wear something provocative or an outfit a normal girl would wear to see the person she has a crush on. I’ve never done this before. What do normal twenty-six-year-old women wear to see the person they have a crush on?
I can Google it.
“I called because I need to cancel my day.” As I’m pulling different clothes out of my drawers, nothing feels right. How would I dress if I weren’t a slut? I wore hand-me-downs and thrift store clothes growing up. Any accessories I had were from the lost and found at the club. Cricket and I had fun digging through the box, surprised by what people left behind when tits and ass distracted them. That didn’t change until Inez introduced me to a new clientele and I had to dress the part of a high-end escort.
But what do I like?
On my days off I wear pajamas. Unless I have to leave, and then I wear leggings.
Welcome to your life, I think to myself. You don’t even know how to dress yourself.
“Great,” Inez says. “We can reschedule for another time.”
Taken aback by the unnatural zest in her tone, I drop the black lingerie set to the floor with the pile of sweats and miniskirts. I’ve messed with my schedule more times in thirty days than I have in the last eight years I’ve worked for Inez. She holds me on a pedestal separate from the others at Hush, but she has a business to run. If I don’t get paid, neither does she. I expected her to put up a fight, especially over someone as valuable as the district attorney. This is too easy.
“Inez, what’s going on? You’re being weird.”
“Actually, Cara,” she says. That’s twice now, and now I know for certain we have an issue. “There’s something I want to talk to you about, but we can’t do it over the phone.”
“I can meet you at Hush tomorrow,” I say, sitting at my vanity. Water trickles from the ends of my hair.
“Hush isn’t safe.”
Inhaling a sharp breath, I grip the edge of my chair and say, “What the fuck do you mean, Hush isn’t safe. Inez, is everything okay? Where are you?”
“Everything will be fine.” Her voice slides back to its normal confidence, but my mind races. “The anniversary of your mother’s death is tomorrow, am I right?”
Raking my fingers through my wet hair, I find it impossible to focus on the wheel of issues spinning through my mind. The anniversary of Cricket’s death is tomorrow. Inez is being evasive, and I’m running out of time to get to Talent’s place.
“Yes,” I say.
“Listen to me, sweet girl. Come to my house and I’ll make dinner. We can share stories of the dead over a bottle of wine.”
“And you’ll tell me what the hell is going on?”
“Yes, we’ll have a conversation.”
Surrendering, I drop my shoulders and exhale. “I’ll be by tomorrow then.”
“Don’t worry about your appointment today,” Inez says almost as an afterthought. “That’s off your schedule indefinitely. No need to rebook.”
Our entire conversation has been a riddle, and I can’t crack the code. Why is Clay off my rotation? Does it have to do with the information Inez is clearly keeping from me? Corruption never ends well.
“Did you call me on one of those silly phones you like to use?” Inez asks.
“Of course,” I whisper.
“Good,” she says in an even tone. “When we hang up, destroy it.”
I run to the kitchen holding my towel together in one hand and clutching the phone in the other. I shuffle through the kitchen drawers until I find a sheet of paper and a pen that works. After scribbling Talent’s address down, I snap the burner phone closed and drop it to the counter like it’s red-hot.
“What’s going on?” Camilla asks. She’s curled on the couch with