I stared at her. “A job doing what?”
“His grandmother needs a chef and he thinks you’d be ideal, the pay is good, and it comes with zero strings. You say no, nothing changes. The compensation still happens. The public statement still goes out. This is separate.”
“Why would he do that?”
Trisha looked at me with an expression that was half amused and half something else, something she covered quickly with her usual brisk energy. “Because he’s trying to be a decent human being, and frankly, he could use the practice. Don’t tell him I said that.”
She pulled a card from her blazer pocket and held it out to me. I took it. On it was a phone number, handwritten, no name.
“Christopher’s private line,” she smirked. “In case you need anything. And I mean anything. He doesn’t give this out, so don’t sell it on the internet or I’ll have to kill you, and I like you too much for that. You can learn more about this job he’s offering.”
She winked, waved, and walked out of the studio like a woman who had seventeen other things to handle before dinner.
I stood in the hallway holding the card. A phone number. Christopher Vale’s private, personal phone number, written on a card, in my hand.
I had Christopher Vale’s private line.
Me. Miley Torres.
I had his number.
I looked at the card again. Then I looked at the hallway Trisha had disappeared down. Then I looked at the card again.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out with my free hand. A text from Anna.
ANNA
How did it go???
I stared at my phone. Then at the card. Then at my phone.
I typed back.
MILEY
I think my life just got very complicated.
Anna’s response was immediate.
ANNA
Oh no. What happened?
I looked at the card one more time. Christopher Vale’s handwriting. His private number. The memory of his lips on my knuckles and his voice saying he was in my favor and his cologne that smelled like bad decisions I was probably going to make.
MILEY
I’ll explain everything later when we meet.
I put my phone back in my pocket and looked ahead. Things were going to take a very different turn.
Torres sisters never sink. But I think this one’s about to swim in very deep water.
CHAPTER 7
Christopher
She texted me at eleven-forty that night.
