Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 92334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
I actually laugh at that.
“Look, I might not be able to swear the man isn’t secretly storing bodies somewhere, but I can absolutely guarantee he’s on schedule. The man runs a tight ship.”
“Okay, okay,” Chloe says, sounding convinced. “But Sloane.” Chloe’s voice gets serious. “What are you going to do?”
I sink deeper into the couch. “I don’t know. Am I being stupid? Should I pack up my studio and run?” I pause, thinking of the winter collection, of the resources at my fingertips, of Cole’s complete faith in my vision. “This is the opportunity of a lifetime, Chloe.”
“Yeah, if it doesn’t get you killed.”
“You really think I’m in danger?”
“I think . . .” She sighs. “I think you need to be very, very careful about what you’re walking into. Keep your eyes open. And most importantly, protect your heart.”
My mind is spinning, my heart is sinking . . . Oh. My. God.
“Or,” she adds after a moment, “you could just ask him.”
I snort. “Right. How exactly do I bring that up? ‘Hey, baby, amazing sex last night. Quick question—do you know anything about your business partner’s wife’s suspicious death?’”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I. There’s no casual way to ask the man you’re sleeping with if he’s involved in something like that.”
“Look, all I’m saying is be smart about this. You’re already in deep with the collection, and now you’re sleeping with him . . .” Chloe trails off. “Just don’t let either blind you to any red flags.”
“I know.” I rub my temples. “I hear you. I do.”
“By the way,” I ask, trying to sound casual, “have you heard anything more from Maya lately? I still haven’t heard a word from her.”
“Actually, that’s another thing I wanted to tell you,” Chloe says, her voice dropping. “She’s still completely MIA. Apparently one of her friends has reached out to her family. They haven’t heard anything either.”
My stomach knots tighter. “That’s . . . not good.”
“I know. And with everything else going on . . .”
“You think there’s a connection?” The suggestion sounds paranoid even to my ears, but I can’t shake the uneasy feeling.
“I don’t know,” Chloe admits. “But the timing is weird, right? She vanishes right when you start working with Cole?”
I swallow hard. “Maybe it’s just a coincidence.”
“Maybe. But be careful, okay?”
“I will.”
“Call me tomorrow? And I mean actually call me this time, not ghost me for days while you’re getting laid.”
“God, you’re terrible.” But I’m smiling. “I promise. Tomorrow.”
“I mean it, Sloane.”
“I know you do. Thank you for looking out for me.”
After hanging up, I sit there for a long moment, letting everything sink in. Julian Voss. Underground crime rings. Murder. It sounds absurd. Like something out of a movie.
And now Maya, vanished after taking a mysterious new job. The timing makes me feel ill. Is it connected? Or am I letting paranoia take over?
Finally, I push myself up and return to my workstation, immediately aware of the cameras mounted in each corner of my studio.
I pick up my tools, trying to focus on the necklace in front of me, but my hands aren’t steady. The cameras had taken some getting used to. I’d justified them—after all, I’m handling pieces worth more than most people’s homes. Security makes sense. But now my imagination is running wild. What if this whole setup—the penthouse, the studio, the cameras—is something more sinister?
Jesus Christ, Sloane. Stop watching true crime documentaries.
I force the ridiculous thoughts away, but I can’t quite shake the unease as the red recording light blinks steadily. Cole’s watching. He always is. Is he in his office right now, splitting his attention between some multimillion-dollar deal and my live feed? The thought used to make me smile. Now it makes my stomach twist.
I set down my tools. The precious stones scatter across my workspace, catching the light. Just like everything else in my life right now—beautiful, valuable, and sharp enough to draw blood.
I glance around my studio, then at my room down the hall. The room that had been waiting for me when I returned from Switzerland, filled with every single thing from my apartment—clothes organized in custom closets, books arranged on built-in shelves, even my ratty old college sweatshirt folded neatly in a drawer. He’d moved it all while I was gone, an entire life relocated in a single night. No discussion, no warning. I’d been too overwhelmed by everything else to question it at the time.
I hit Redial before I can talk myself out of it.
“Seriously?” Chloe answers, laughing. “It’s been like thirty seconds.”
“I’m spiraling. I need to talk more . . . Quick hypothetical,” I say, keeping my voice barely above a whisper, one hand cupped over my mouth. I have no idea if the cameras pick up audio, or if Cole or his security team can read lips. Better safe than sorry. “What if I needed to leave?”