Page 1 of Golden Touch
CHAPTER 1
LIVIA
Every morning when I wake up, the first thing I do is listen for trouble. It’s a lifelong habit, and today is no different. But all I hear this morning is birdsong. Lots of it. It sounds like a nearby blue jay and a chickadee have an ongoing disagreement.
Sitting up, I have to squint against the sunlight streaming through the windows. When I’d moved into this weird little apartment—carved out of the old pumphouse behind the Giltmaker Brewery—there’d been a set of faded curtains hanging from the windows. They were so tattered that I’d taken them down and hidden them in an upstairs closet.
Often, because I spend so much time alone, I mentally redecorate this place. New curtains. A cute paint job. A shower upgrade. A couch that isn’t lumpy.
But this place isn’t mine to redecorate. I’m only borrowing it. Lyle Giltmaker—the brewery owner—lets me live here for free. He’s not a generous man in my experience, but he likes the idea that I’m always early for work.
The downside: I don’t have a lease or any kind of job security. He could fire me and evict me in the same breath if he decided to. Still, it’s the best deal in town, and I’m determined to practice gratitude. This has been a stressful year, and it’s not every daythat you find a job where the owner doesn’t ask too many questions, and also pays you in cash.
Lyle’s a world-class grump, but nobody’s perfect.
So I’m counting my blessings as I head for the tiny bathroom, pull back the rust-stained shower curtain, and crank the faucet. And I continue to count them, even though I’m not a morning person, and seven thirty feels stupidly early, and the water doesn’t stay hot for long.
Less than twenty minutes later, I’ve got my makeup done, my heels on, and I’m ready to make the short walk to the brewery’s office.
On my way out, I grab my phone from the charger in the kitchen and take a look at my notifications. And what I see there makes me pull up short—seven missed calls and a flurry of texts from my cousin. All of them from late last night.
Oh no. Even before I read her first text, I know it’s going to be bad.
Jennie
Where are you?
Hell of a time for your stupid phone to die!!! There’s some asshole pounding on my front door and yelling for you.
Call me when you get this. Any hour. He’s gone now because my crone of a neighbor threatened to call the cops. But we have to talk. I’ve never seen this guy before, but he’s bad news.
There’s more, but I don’t read it, because I’m already calling her back.
“Hey,” Jennie answers sleepily. “You okay?”
“I’m fine. But, God, I’msosorry?—”
“It’s not your fault, babe. But I’m scared.”
“I bet!”
“No, I’m scared foryou, bitch. He was asking for you. And then he said…” She takes a breath. “‘Tell that whore that somebody saw you two at the Busy Bean last week. Now I know which county she’s in. Tell her that Razor hired me to find her, and I’m really good at my job.’”
I can’t hold back my gasp. “Ohno.”
“Yeah,” Jennie says hoarsely. “I told him through the door that you refuse to tell me where you’re living. And he was wasting his time bothering me.”
“Did he believe you?”
“Probably. Yeah. But he made himself a nuisance anyway. Just to see what I’d do. So you havegotto be really careful, okay? This man was a scary dude. I got a look at him through the peephole.”
“What did he look like?”
“Like he could snap us in half. Big shoulders. Muscular. Lots of ink. Brown hair, dark eyes.” She lets out a nervous laugh. “Honestly, he was exactly your type.”
I bristle with resentment, probably because it’s true. All the men I’ve dated look just like that. And it always ends badly. “New rule—no men, unless they weigh ninety pounds or less.”
“Oh, please,” she scoffs. “You like ’em big and rough.”
