Page 32 of Paint the Town, Dove
“So she filed a formal complaint against GQ, and you know what I did?”
I rolled my eyes when the strobes dimmed, kept them bright when they didn’t. “What did you do, Mr. Turner?”
He slapped his knee, chortling like a hyena. “Ripped it up and tossed it in the sink!”
This confused me. “The sink?”
“Where else am I meant to place such a minutedilemma?”
I clinked my glass to his, unbothered and apathetic. “Clever.”
“Aren’t I?” He smirked to himself, emptying the contents of his tumbler.
God save this industry.
“And where is our rock star, Ms. Blake?”
I glanced around the lounge, finding only bodies clad in bright neon, spoiling themselves on the complementary booze and hors d’oeuvres.
No Ryden.
A pit formed in my stomach. I adjusted accordingly. “I’ll hunt him down.”
He placed a firm hand on my knee, squeezing bone. “He’s a grown man, Ms. Blake. I’m sure he’s indulging just as we are.”
My mind whirred back to the past: eight years ago, sitting across the dining table at Baker and Bear’s, flirting for a way tostay at the inn –indulginga man well past his mid-fifties, who found mebuoyantandsprightly.Yeah, those were Hank’s words, to a twenty-year-old Scarlett –“a real crotch-rocket.”
He, too, grabbed my leg with a predatory gaze in his eyes. But Sinead’s old blueberry pills came in handy for one thing, and it saved my life.
Our life.
Me and Ryden.
Where the FUCK is Ryden?
Abe’s hand was still on my leg before I scooted upwards and out. “I’ve got to freshen up, Mr. Turner, but this has been lovely.”
His lips flatlined. “You’re my date.”
“Care to accompany me to the ladies’ room, then?” I leaned forward, placing an angular nail under his chin. “I’m sure there will be many moreformal complaintsfor you to throw in the sink tomorrow.”
His cheek reddened, a hunch telling me that he failed to disclose the full story of his little incident report. Paid her off? Most definitely. Most pigs do.
I stalked towards the ladies room until I was out of Abe’s line of sight, then surveyed the space.
He could be anywhere in this zoo, I thought.Or he could have left.No, he wouldn’t do that to me. Not unless –
I spotted Yasmine by the dome couches, sharing a round of martinis with Holly Blackhaven.
It didn’t even take a fucking second.
I perched down right in front of the two airheads, popping an olive into my mouth. “If it isn’t the rugrat twins.”
Yasmine gaped, snatchingher martini. “You can’t just steal drinks.”
“No,” I crossed my stilettos on the table, “but you can steal songs.”
Rage pooled in her eyes. The other one yapped at me. “Have some class, Scarlett.”
