Page 64 of Highest Bidder

That wasn’t my money, and I knew it.

I got out of the Malibu and muttered, “Too late now.”

Inside, the waiting room was empty except for a peeling green vinyl couch and a guy behind a glass window who looked annoyed he had to pause the game on his phone to talk to me.

“I need to speak to Lorenzo,” I said.

He gave me a once-over, then buzzed a door open without saying a word.

Lorenzo was exactly as my sister had described him, minus the two goons. His small office had no windows, and the air smelled like a mixture of cigarettes and cologne.

He didn’t acknowledge me when I entered, just kept flipping through scraps of paper in a manila folder until I cleared my throat.

I tried to sound confident when I said, “I’m here to make a payment on Ray Dempsey’s loan,” but my shaking knees might have given me away.

He didn’t even look up. “Loan’s been paid in full.”

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

Finally, he looked at me. Of course, he talked to my chest when he replied, “Guy came in yesterday and covered the entire amount.”

My mouth went dry. “Did he leave a name?”

His gaze finally climbed to my face, slow and smug, and made my skin want to crawl. “Nope. Porsche. Nice watch. Sound like your sugar daddy?”

I stared at him while my heartbeat was in my ears. Now was not the time to try and unpack why Jeff would have done something like this.

“Are we done, then?” I asked as I took a step back before he even answered.

“We’re done,” he said, then opened the folder back up. “You’re free and clear.”

Maybe as far as this debt went. But I had a feeling the other shoe was going to drop soon enough.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Vivian

I still wasn’t sure if Velvet Underground was going to demand their money back, so I showed up to work for my usual Monday evening shift.

I was fixing my lashes in the mirror backstage when Sapphire sauntered up beside me, chewing on a piece of gum and watching me through the reflection.

“So,” she said, too casually, “you and your boyfriend make up yet?”

I paused, my lip gloss wand halfway to my mouth. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

She gave a snort. “Sure looked like you gave a damn when he left with me the other night.”

I turned to face her fully, ready to tell her to mind her own business, but her expression surprised me. It wasn’t smug—it was almost… apologetic?

“For what it’s worth,” she said, “he didn’t touch me.”

I felt my brows furrow. “What?”

“In the Champagne Room. He didn’t want a dance. Didn’t want anything.” She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “Just asked about you.”

Wait, what?

“He seemed pissed,” she added. “But not at me.”

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