Page 92 of Fighting

Nodding, I check an item off the list on my tablet.

“Okay, then we’re set. Let’s get the word out using the whisper network, not the Springer, to make sure people know what they’re in for if they push for this country club.”

Liam and Christian, both on duty, leave first, their matching navy cargo pants and PSFD shirts making a statement.

“Pru, why don’t you take the room. I’ll bring these two back to the office,” Delia says.

“Thank you,” Sofia says, again speaking softly and lowering her gaze.

ShouldI have consulted the senior Salvatore women?

I run my hand through my hair, deciding a visit to the salon is necessary. Not only for my hair, but for intel. The bells chime overhead as I step inside, and every head snaps my way.

“Hey, Matty. Haven’t seen you up close in forever. How are you?” Tina gives me a kiss on each cheek in greeting.

“It’s been too long, for sure. I’m hoping to get in for a trim soon. Have any openings?” My smile is deep and charming. Flattery is the best way to handle Christina Salvatore.

“Let me take a look.” She steps around the counter and peers at her computer screen. “It doesn’t look like we have anything in the next month, and no offense, but that is too long given the hair growing in at the back of your neck.”

The tone is light, teasing, perhaps even flirty. She rounds the counter again and runs her hands through my hair, her nails scratching my scalp lightly.

“I can squeeze you in tonight if you can come back after closing. How about nine?”

She preens and bats her glued-on lashes my way. They are so oversized she looks like a Muppet.

“Sure thing,” I say as I extricate myself from her fingers. I’m playing with fire here.

forty-one

Nessa

Delia convincesme that I will feel better if I get some air, so I text Millie and we meet for dinner at The Featherweight. Dinner turns into a long conversation at the fire pit, which is equipped with a s’mores bar tonight. Before I know it, we’re wandering back to Millie’s place stuffed full of chocolate and marshmallows.

As we pass Curl Up & Dye, I’m knocked back like I’ve taken a physical blow.

In the dimly lit shop sits Mateo, wearing a cape, suggesting it is just a typical appointment. But that isn’t what’s taken me by surprise. No, what has my hackles rising is the sight of Christina Salvatore wearing a dress so tiny it might as well be lingerie.

“Guess he’s moving on,” I say, a chill running through me.

She’s massaging his scalp, again not totally abnormal. But her low cut neckline and unconventional stance—she is standing in front of the chair instead of behind it—means her chest is inches from his face.

“Figures,” I grumble to Millie. “He was always a man whore, and despite his pretty words, he moved on faster than FloJo.”

Millie loops her arm through mine and tugs me along. Glancing back, a tiny fragment of light catches my eye and I stop.

“Wait, look,” I say.

“Don’t give him the satisfaction,” she reprimands.

“I think she’s wearing an engagement ring,” I add.

“Intrigue,” Millie coos, turning.

“I can’t tell,” I admit, slumping.

“Hmm, well, can I interest you in a distraction? Reruns? I find that TV shows I’ve seen before are always the best balm.”

A few episodesinto our rerun marathon, a heavy knock sounds on her apartment door. The deep banging is accompanied by angry demands for her to open up.

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