Page 52 of When Glitter Meets Gold

The damage control he’d have to do would be more painful than a root canal.

As he swirls his glass, he notices Enrique’s eyes glance behind him. He twists toward the swell of bodies clusteredat the bar, his eyes immediately tracking the figure in the red dress heading his way.

“The cherry on the cake.” J growls as Kandi forms a crimson barricade around him.

Kandi giggles. The sound is entirely false, all part of her charming facade.

“Look at you, comparing me to a cute little cherry. You know I’m sweet enough.” She winks.

J clears his throat. “It was a metaphor. If you’d like me to make a more accurate comparison, I’d say you’re more like a fallen apple, left to rot in the heat.”

Kandi’s face drops, her eyes narrowing fiercely, revealing a more practiced side. She smiles darkly. “Oh, stop. I wasn’t so rotten all those years ago. Don’t worry, I’m not offended. Although, I’m a little insulted you’d think I’d involve anyone else in our liaisons. Especially that nauseating Sara Kirby. Your paranoia really got the better of you, huh?” She sneers.

J’s stomach twists because what is she saying? That Saraisn’tinvolved?

“Tread carefully.” He eyes Kandi with caution, like she’s a loose wire about to deliver a thousand volts.

“Not my style,” she says as she pulls a bottle of perfume from her purse, spraying herself liberally. “Now’s not the time for discussions, but you know what I want.” She turns her back on him, flicking her head back to say, “So you better be in touch.”

He can hardly give chase. He’d already have to perform a miracle to get the night back on track; he couldn’t afford to cause another scene.

Instead, he inhales deeply as he returns to the bar.

He rests his elbows on the counter, his eyes snagging on an item that should have been cleared away.

A napkin.

Folded in half, with the corner upturned just enough to reveal some letters. J absently reaches out to retrieve it before unfolding it to inspect it further.

His brows shoot up an inch when he finds a drawing that looks like it belongs to a preschooler.

At the top, it reads,Sara’s daydreams,followed by a terrible illustration of a car, nose-diving from a cliff. Beside it, a stick-figure man carries a stick-figure woman. Arrows point toJackandSara.At the bottom, he can just about make out the patchy words,I owe you a lot more than Jeep $$. His eyes dart to the bottom corner, where the lettersIOUbleed out onto the cloth.

J blinks several times because, Christ, the napkin’s a fucking IOU. Sara wants to pay him back. The girl he’d just publicly accused of extortion is trying to payhimfor a debt she believes she owes.

“Is everything alright?” A smoky voice asks.

Magdalena stares at the napkin before brushing an aged hand across the stick-figure couple. The corner of her eyes wrinkle as she appears to enjoy the illustration.

“Yes. Yes, I’m fine.” J collects himself. “I apologize for my outburst, it seems I went temporarily insane for a moment back there.”

She exhales a croaky laugh. “I never had you pegged as an eccentric, but welcome to the club.”

Sensing there’s a chance he has her back on his side, he relaxes. “Can I get you another martini? Some champagne?” He signals to the bartender.

“Oh darling, don’t worry about getting me a drink. I’m Magdalena Nicolo, every sucker in New York wants to buy me a drink. You should be worrying about what you did to deserve the scorn of that sweet girl who spent an entire fiveminutes creating that piece for you.” She taps the napkin again.

Of course Magdalena had been observing Sara. She looked nothing short of beautiful tonight, someone worth watching.

J folds over the napkin, keeping it in his hand, careful not to crush it. “I…handled things poorly,” he admits before tapping the napkin. “This was supposed to be a joke between friends.” He recoils as he hears himself. He’d publicly made sure that Sara knew they were no such thing. She’d never speak to him again after tonight.

“A joke?” Magdalena shakes her head. “No such thing. That handy work probably holds more meaning than half the art on these walls.” Her words are scratchy, a smoker’s voice. “Which means there’s a chance you can fix it. If you keep a lid on the crazy this time.” She winks before dragging a tendril of black hair away from her face, tucking it neatly into her bun. It’s a tell-tale sign that she’s about to break some bad news. She was renowned for her famousHair Tuck of Doom.

“I don’t like that Parker Jennings,” she declares without a single care of who should happen to overhear. “He spent the night filling that poor blonde with alcohol. He likes his girls drunk and helpless.”

J’s brows come together, and he feels his expression darken. He’d seen Sara’s friend with Parker, and now he’s pissed he didn’t put two and two together.

Fury courses through him. Sara’s friend, not a drunk but the victim of that asshole. Perhaps he’s destined to cause another scene tonight after all.

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