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“What the fuck? Miranda, stop playing with me.”

The dry one-word response and Miranda’s odd behavior were getting under her skin. She couldn’t understand why Miranda was behaving so strangely. In addition to that, the thought of going home so early, after being out for the first time in four years, didn’t sit well with her.

Considering how long it had been since she had allowed herself to enjoy New Year’s Eve celebration made, cutting the night short almost felt wrong. The anticipation and excitement made the thought of leaving prematurely all the more disappointing.

“Can we just go? You didn’t have plans for tonight anyway.”

“Correction! I did have plans. I planned to eat my oysters, listen to an audiobook, and do the same thing I was doing last year. If memory serves me correctly, it was you that said, and I quote, ‘You’re not some elementary school teacher that has to go home and grade homework assignments.’ But that didn’t work for you. Now we’re here. So, I’m asking again, what’s the problem?”

Miranda sucked her teeth like a child. She hated when Myla threw her words back in her face. But she couldn’t be mad because she would’ve done the same thing. In fact, she had done just that when they arrived. She wanted to keep her mouth closed. Myla had a knack for dismissing things that she didn’t want to hear. She knew this time would be no different, but she knew she had to get what was on her chest off.

“Château Noir is packed to the brim with every mild to salacious act that a consenting adult can think of. Hell, from the quick rundown I received, there’s a floor dedicated to nude sculpting and painting, a massage parlor, and there’s supposed to be a course that teaches business owners how to clean money. So please explain to me how in a club filled with endless possibilities, lust, and success, you managed to end up with a scammer?” Miranda asked.

Myla was taken aback. She was not expecting something so ludicrous to spew from Miranda’s mouth. Her observation of Dante was absurd.

“A scammer?” Myla questioned. She was appalled. “You determined he was a scammer after only speaking to him for less than a few minutes. Dante is a commercial realtor. My God, he’s wearing a Tom Ford suit and Hermes loafers. As you said, Château Noir is full of success. So why would you call him a scammer?” Myla asked as she handed Miranda the business card that Dante had given her.

Miranda looked at the house-shaped business card and read his credentials aloud:

Whatever your real estate needs are

I can make it happen

Dante Helgard

Dante Helgard Realty

NMLS ID # 913322

Commercial Realtor, Appraiser, and Home Inspector

“This business card and these so-called job titles are bullshit. I am willing to bet he made this card with Canva, Zazzle, or Vistaprint. Matter of fact, looking at the low quality of this business card, he probably bought cardstock paper and printed them out at the library.”

Myla threw her head back and laughed at Miranda’s nonsense.

“What type of person would create a fake business card?”

“A fraudulent one,” Miranda answered as if it was the dumbest question in the world. “Myla, how did you meet him?”

“Why does it matter? We were in a club packed to the brim with people. I was bound to meet someone. I said I’d find my rich husband tonight; looks like I did,” Myla joked.

“I doubt it,” Miranda shot back.

Myla rolled her eyes and waved her hand. Ready to dismiss the nonsense her friend was spewing.

“Realtors, whether commercial or residential, are not appraisers. The only person who can appraise the value of a home is a state-licensed appraiser. Him being a home inspector is another lie. Again, the realtor, whether commercial or residential, sells the property. The inspector identifies the issues and defects of the property. The realtor does not, under any circumstance, appraise or inspect homes. This flimsy ass card is a big fucking red flag. So I’ma ask you again, how did you meet him? Did he come up to you at the bar? Did he tap you on the shoulder and say hello? How did you meet that man?”

Myla ignored the questions.

“I know you don’t like to listen, but there is something not right about that man. When I was in the cage dancing, I saw him running through the middle of the club. He was being chased by two security guards. Not one, but two security guards.” She held up two fingers in a wiggling motion as if her fingers were the two guards running behind Dante.

“I want you to think about that. Château Noir is a members-only club that provides its members with everything their hearts desire. If controlled chaos is literally on the fucking menu, why would two security guards be chasing his ass?” Miranda asked.

Myla was stunned. It now made sense why Dante had run into her with so much force. She had not seen anyone chasing him, but at the speed at which he had run into her, it was impossible to see anything. She didn’t think that it would be wise to tell Miranda that she and Dante met when he ran into her and knocked her down. Somehow, she knew that that would not go over well.

“I don’t know anything about him being chased,” she stated truthfully. “All I know is he asked me how I was enjoying the club. Then he asked if we could get a bite to eat. We talked for a while, we exchanged cards, and before we could order anything to eat, you so rudely joined us. He allowed me to borrow his suit jacket to keep warm, and now we’re in the car headed home. I honestly don’t understand what the big deal is. I met a guy while in a club, we talked, and that’s it. There weren’t talks of wedding bells, so why are you so determined to point out what you see as flaws?” Myla asked.

“I’m pointing them out because you tend to block out the truth when you’ve made up your mind about something. You are brilliant when it comes to helping others, but when it comes to you focusing on you, you run to your journals and write what you want to believe, instead of listening to the truth. Dante’s aura screams deception and control. If you weren’t so focused on his looks, you’d be able to see that.”