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“You’re sick.”
He laughed again. “It’s business, honey. I do what I need to get what I want.”
She clutched the phone tightly in her hand. “Does that include getting young girls addicted to drugs and killing themselves over it?”
There was a long pause on the other end of the phone ... one where Rose could feel a small sense of victory. She had no idea about the extent of Slick’s relationship with Jazzy. Only gathering enough from what Dylan had told her about it to really piece enough of a puzzle together.
But she could take a stab in the dark and say that Slick wasn’t exactly in the business of killing his clientele on purpose.
“Listen to me, bitch,” he growled, “you either come to my office and sign this paperwork, or I’m going to end your fucking career. Do you think you have the upper hand? You don’t. Let’s get that one straight. You’ve got until the end of the week to make a decision before I make it for you.”
With that, his line went dead.
She pulled the phone back from her face, surprised at that reaction.
Well … guess that answers that question…
Rose sank into her seat and stared at the pictures on her desk.
Now what?
EIGHTEEN
DYLAN
Dylan couldn’t focus in the studio, relaxing at home, lying in bed, or even making himself meals. Rose was everywhere in his mind, like a stunning garden permeating his life. She was sparkling and wonderful, but he was filled with dread, thinking she was starting to ghost him out of nowhere.
She had canceled their date abruptly with very little explanation. He knew she didn’t owe him one, but things had been wonderful. They had been spending whole weekends together, days and nights blending as one romantic vision. It didn’t seem like her to not give him a straight answer.
Dylan decided he would try to pop by Rose’s school during her lunch break. He didn’t feel good about it, but he felt he had to know. He couldn’t be straddling the line of dating or not dating, it would hurt to be rejected, but at least it would be set in stone.
He pulled up in a sleek corvette and immediately spotted Rose holding a box pressed to her chest. The sight of her sent flutters of joy through his heart, but faint darkness cast over the excitement. He drove up alongside her, bothered by the fact that she had her head cast downward.
As always, Rose looked stunning. She had her luminous blonde hair held up in a messy bun, exposing her long and tasty neck. She wore a crisp white blouse and black pencil skirt that rounded her curves relentlessly, hypnotic in their natural swing.
She didn’t hear him pull up, so he had to roll the window down and lean over the passenger's side.
“Rose,” he said, the name as sweet as honey on his lips.
She stopped walking and looked up at him. She looked tired and, more than anything, preoccupied. Her eyes were dim, but she feigned a smile as she clutched the box to her chest.
“Dylan,” she said quietly. “How are you?”
Dylan felt like someone had punched him in the chest. Her response was casual like they had met briefly at a party, and they hadn’t spent every waking moment pressed against each other’s naked bodies.
“I’d be better if I heard from you,” Dylan said, his arm draped around the passenger’s seat. “Can you come for a quick ride with me? Maybe get some lunch?”
Rose held the box against her chest like it was holding together her vital organs. She looked away from him and back at the school front entrance. He didn’t have to tap into his shifter sense to realize that something was bothering her. He wished she trusted him enough to share it.
“I’ve got a meeting to get to,” Rose replied, eyes frantic and uncertain. “I’m sorry.”
Dylan tapped against the seat, the silence growing thicker between them. He unbuckled his seat belt so he could lean over farther, trying to catch her wandering eye.
“Is this over, Rose?” he asked.
Rose’s eyes snapped to his, blazing with worry.
“Oh, no,” she asserted. “No, I’m sorry. I’ve just been so busy lately.”
