was never to have contact with his daughter again. Tiff, being Tiff, had found plenty of opportunities to buck Daddy's edict. And Eve, being Eve—a sucker for a sad little rich girl—could never find it in herself to send Tiffany away when she came around. Except for the last time.
The last time, even though she'd done it for Tiffany's own good, Eve had sent her away. Tiffany hadn't seen it that way. She'd seen it as rejection, and trying to explain that it was no such thing had been a tough trick when Tiffany had been peeling away from the curb in a snit.
Eve couldn't do anything about that now. And getting information from Clayborne was going to be tricky. But first, she had to deal with her brothers. Looked like now was the time, as they all came filing back into the conference room.
Nolan, in his proverbial black jeans and matching T-shirt, walked to the far side of the room, then slouched with his hip against the windowsill. Blue eyes grim, he tipped a bottle of root beer to his lips. Someday that crap was going to eat a hole in his stomach. But since it was better than the scotch he used to like a little too much, she didn't say a word.
Dallas, as always, button-down perfection in tan chinos and a white knit shirt, carried his laptop and a bottle of designer water as he sat down beside her at the table again.
"OK. Go," Ethan said, loosening his tie and popping a cherry Life Saver.
She didn't know if she could do this without coffee. As if reading her mind, Kim appeared at her side with a cup.
"Thank you, Lord. And thank you, Kimmie."
"We're waiting."
"OK, OK. Long story long ,"she began drolly as her brothers glared at her with varying expressions of concern and impatience. "I got a call from Tiffany Clayborne Friday night."
"Should have known she'd be involved in this," Ethan grumbled. "Christ, Eve, when are you going to learn that girl is poison to you?"
"That girl," she said defensively, "is someone I care about. And that girl could be in trouble."
"So what happened?"
She told them. Everything. From Tiffany's three-week absence, to the frantic call that she'd thought was from Tiffany but had since decided had been a lure, to the thug with the stun gun, to her run-in with McClain, who'd been hired by Clayborne's camp to find Tiffany, to the blast in the manager's office at Club Asylum.
A silence loaded with testosterone vibrated through the conference room as the brothers absorbed and began to slowly, but quietly, fume.
"OK. What aren't you telling us?" It didn't surprise her that Nolan had picked up on her omission. Like most twins, they'd always had a special connection.
She pulled the note out of her bag. Gave it to Ethan.
You're still dead. It's just a question of when and where. Tonight was just a little reminder. Boom!
Her oldest brother read it and with clenched jaws passed it to his brothers. After reading it, Nolan summed up what all three men were thinking in one concise word: "Fuck."
Everything went downhill from there.
The mirror above the bathroom sink in the penthouse of the Trump Taj Mahal ran the entire width of the room. Tiffany Clayborne stood naked in front of it. She tried to focus on her reflection through a thin curl of smoke. And wondered if what she saw was really her. She wasn't even sure she knew who she was anymore.
Thick black mascara circled her eyes and ran down her cheeks to blur the tiny tear she'd had permanently tattooed there. Red rimmed her lower lids. Her skin, she thought, in a fleeting moment of clarity, had sort of a pasty blue tint. Her lips were painted purplish black.
She looked, she decided finally, like one of those clown dolls. A sad, broken clown doll with short spiked raspberry-colored hair and bruises on her breasts. She ran her pierced tongue around her lower lip, worrying the twin silver lip rings that had seemed like such a good idea at the time.
The last time, even though she'd done it for Tiffany's own good, Eve had sent her away. Tiffany hadn't seen it that way. She'd seen it as rejection, and trying to explain that it was no such thing had been a tough trick when Tiffany had been peeling away from the curb in a snit.
Eve couldn't do anything about that now. And getting information from Clayborne was going to be tricky. But first, she had to deal with her brothers. Looked like now was the time, as they all came filing back into the conference room.
Nolan, in his proverbial black jeans and matching T-shirt, walked to the far side of the room, then slouched with his hip against the windowsill. Blue eyes grim, he tipped a bottle of root beer to his lips. Someday that crap was going to eat a hole in his stomach. But since it was better than the scotch he used to like a little too much, she didn't say a word.
Dallas, as always, button-down perfection in tan chinos and a white knit shirt, carried his laptop and a bottle of designer water as he sat down beside her at the table again.
"OK. Go," Ethan said, loosening his tie and popping a cherry Life Saver.
She didn't know if she could do this without coffee. As if reading her mind, Kim appeared at her side with a cup.
"Thank you, Lord. And thank you, Kimmie."
"We're waiting."
"OK, OK. Long story long ,"she began drolly as her brothers glared at her with varying expressions of concern and impatience. "I got a call from Tiffany Clayborne Friday night."
"Should have known she'd be involved in this," Ethan grumbled. "Christ, Eve, when are you going to learn that girl is poison to you?"
"That girl," she said defensively, "is someone I care about. And that girl could be in trouble."
"So what happened?"
She told them. Everything. From Tiffany's three-week absence, to the frantic call that she'd thought was from Tiffany but had since decided had been a lure, to the thug with the stun gun, to her run-in with McClain, who'd been hired by Clayborne's camp to find Tiffany, to the blast in the manager's office at Club Asylum.
A silence loaded with testosterone vibrated through the conference room as the brothers absorbed and began to slowly, but quietly, fume.
"OK. What aren't you telling us?" It didn't surprise her that Nolan had picked up on her omission. Like most twins, they'd always had a special connection.
She pulled the note out of her bag. Gave it to Ethan.
You're still dead. It's just a question of when and where. Tonight was just a little reminder. Boom!
Her oldest brother read it and with clenched jaws passed it to his brothers. After reading it, Nolan summed up what all three men were thinking in one concise word: "Fuck."
Everything went downhill from there.
The mirror above the bathroom sink in the penthouse of the Trump Taj Mahal ran the entire width of the room. Tiffany Clayborne stood naked in front of it. She tried to focus on her reflection through a thin curl of smoke. And wondered if what she saw was really her. She wasn't even sure she knew who she was anymore.
Thick black mascara circled her eyes and ran down her cheeks to blur the tiny tear she'd had permanently tattooed there. Red rimmed her lower lids. Her skin, she thought, in a fleeting moment of clarity, had sort of a pasty blue tint. Her lips were painted purplish black.
She looked, she decided finally, like one of those clown dolls. A sad, broken clown doll with short spiked raspberry-colored hair and bruises on her breasts. She ran her pierced tongue around her lower lip, worrying the twin silver lip rings that had seemed like such a good idea at the time.
Similar Books
