put on fresh clothes, and I was on my way to visit Melissa Fraye.
I knock on the apartment door and take a step back so if Melissa is inside, she can see my face clearly through her peephole. I immediately hear footsteps on the other side of the door before it opens a few inches, secured with a chain.
A woman who is not Melissa Fraye peeks around the edge at me.
“Is Melissa here?” I ask her.
“Yeah, just a minute,” she says before shutting the door on me, which doesn’t bother me in the slightest. This isn’t the best neighborhood, so it’s not wise to open the door to strange men.
I wait patiently for a few minutes, then the door opens again, this time fully, and I’m looking at Melissa Fraye as she appraises me. Eyes sliding down, taking in my John Varvatos jeans, Tomas Maier T-shirt that probably cost more than her entire wardrobe, and my Aquatalia suede boots, there’s no doubt she knows I’m wearing a fortune in designer clothes, and I know this because by the time her eyes reach me again, I can almost see dollar signs in them.
“Do you know who I am?” I ask.
She nods, cocks a hip, and presses it against the edge of the door. “Beckett North.”
“I need to talk to you. Can I come in for a moment?”
“Of course,” she says with a brilliant smile and a nervous flutter of her fingers through her hair. She’s a pretty girl and all, but she doesn’t have shit on Sela.
Melissa opens the door and steps aside to give me entrance. I immediately take in the small but clean apartment, decorated in mismatched, used furniture and cheap prints on the walls framed in acrylic. The woman who opened the door stands in the tiny kitchen, hunched over a gossip magazine, chewing gum heavily.
“We need privacy,” I tell Melissa.
The dollar signs burn brighter and she says, “We can go in my room.”
I don’t argue with her. I don’t care if we talk here or in her room, and I’m not worried about my virtue. I can handle her, but I do not need prying ears for what I’m about to discuss.
Melissa’s room is messy, with clothes littered all around the floor. She makes a show of kicking a few pieces under her unmade bed as I shut the door behind me.
“Sorry about all this,” she says as she bends to pick up a bra off the floor. She doesn’t stuff this under the bed, but instead lays it on top where I guess she wants me to admire the large, pale blue lacy cups or something.
I don’t give it another thought and get straight to the point. “I need to talk to you about the last Sugar Bowl Mixer you attended on the twenty-first.”
Her head tilts at me in curiosity. “I was there. Having a drink with your partner as a matter of fact, but he bailed.”
I nod. “Was that the first time you’d met JT?”
“Yeah,” she said with a fond smile. “Never thought I’d get a shot at him, but he zeroed in on me pretty fast. I really thought something would come out of that, but like I said…he bailed.”
I reach into my back pocket, pull out the copy of the agreement that JT said Melissa signed, and hand it to her. She opens it up, glances at it once, and then looks back up to me with confusion in her eyes.
“Is that your signature at the bottom?” I ask, nodding my head toward the paper in her hands.
She peers down at it, brows furrowed, and says, “It looks like it.”
“Did you sign it?”
Her eyes start flying across the words of the agreement, all the while her brow furrowing deeper and deeper. Finally her eyes raise to mine and the dollar signs are gone. I see a flash of anger as she hands it back to me. “I didn’t sign that. Nor would I ever do something like that.”
I take the document from her, shove it back into my pocket. “I didn’t think so.”
My stomach churns with the realization that JT was going to rape this woman. He was going to drug her, the way he did Sela, and he was going to do with her whatever he pleased. Fuck, for all I know he’s got an entire gang of
I knock on the apartment door and take a step back so if Melissa is inside, she can see my face clearly through her peephole. I immediately hear footsteps on the other side of the door before it opens a few inches, secured with a chain.
A woman who is not Melissa Fraye peeks around the edge at me.
“Is Melissa here?” I ask her.
“Yeah, just a minute,” she says before shutting the door on me, which doesn’t bother me in the slightest. This isn’t the best neighborhood, so it’s not wise to open the door to strange men.
I wait patiently for a few minutes, then the door opens again, this time fully, and I’m looking at Melissa Fraye as she appraises me. Eyes sliding down, taking in my John Varvatos jeans, Tomas Maier T-shirt that probably cost more than her entire wardrobe, and my Aquatalia suede boots, there’s no doubt she knows I’m wearing a fortune in designer clothes, and I know this because by the time her eyes reach me again, I can almost see dollar signs in them.
“Do you know who I am?” I ask.
She nods, cocks a hip, and presses it against the edge of the door. “Beckett North.”
“I need to talk to you. Can I come in for a moment?”
“Of course,” she says with a brilliant smile and a nervous flutter of her fingers through her hair. She’s a pretty girl and all, but she doesn’t have shit on Sela.
Melissa opens the door and steps aside to give me entrance. I immediately take in the small but clean apartment, decorated in mismatched, used furniture and cheap prints on the walls framed in acrylic. The woman who opened the door stands in the tiny kitchen, hunched over a gossip magazine, chewing gum heavily.
“We need privacy,” I tell Melissa.
The dollar signs burn brighter and she says, “We can go in my room.”
I don’t argue with her. I don’t care if we talk here or in her room, and I’m not worried about my virtue. I can handle her, but I do not need prying ears for what I’m about to discuss.
Melissa’s room is messy, with clothes littered all around the floor. She makes a show of kicking a few pieces under her unmade bed as I shut the door behind me.
“Sorry about all this,” she says as she bends to pick up a bra off the floor. She doesn’t stuff this under the bed, but instead lays it on top where I guess she wants me to admire the large, pale blue lacy cups or something.
I don’t give it another thought and get straight to the point. “I need to talk to you about the last Sugar Bowl Mixer you attended on the twenty-first.”
Her head tilts at me in curiosity. “I was there. Having a drink with your partner as a matter of fact, but he bailed.”
I nod. “Was that the first time you’d met JT?”
“Yeah,” she said with a fond smile. “Never thought I’d get a shot at him, but he zeroed in on me pretty fast. I really thought something would come out of that, but like I said…he bailed.”
I reach into my back pocket, pull out the copy of the agreement that JT said Melissa signed, and hand it to her. She opens it up, glances at it once, and then looks back up to me with confusion in her eyes.
“Is that your signature at the bottom?” I ask, nodding my head toward the paper in her hands.
She peers down at it, brows furrowed, and says, “It looks like it.”
“Did you sign it?”
Her eyes start flying across the words of the agreement, all the while her brow furrowing deeper and deeper. Finally her eyes raise to mine and the dollar signs are gone. I see a flash of anger as she hands it back to me. “I didn’t sign that. Nor would I ever do something like that.”
I take the document from her, shove it back into my pocket. “I didn’t think so.”
My stomach churns with the realization that JT was going to rape this woman. He was going to drug her, the way he did Sela, and he was going to do with her whatever he pleased. Fuck, for all I know he’s got an entire gang of
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