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“That’s a new desk, asshole,” he laughs. “Everything good there?”
“I’m looking over some invoices. Stuff we’re getting from Empire Beverage seems to be running out quicker than usual, but they’re charging us the same.”
“They’re shady as fuck.”
“So are we.”
Beyond my closed office door, I hear the back door open and slam shut. Must be one of the girls arriving to spread sunshine and bad vibes.
“You’re about to get your wish, brother,” Z says.
“World peace?”
“Such a romantic. No, I’m on my way up there. I’ll go through the paperwork with you.”
Z’s got enough on his plate, so I wouldn’t ask him to stop by to help but if he’s offering, I won’t turn him down. “Appreciate it. Been too long since I’ve seen your pretty face.”
“Aw, shucks. I’m blushing, Dex.”
We trade a few more sarcastic jabs, he promises to be here in an hour, and we hang up.
As I’m setting my phone on the desk, someone knocks on my door.
“Come in.”
The door opens so slowly, I almost yell for whoever’s there to come in again. But finally, a head of shiny black curls appears. Kamryn? Kynslee? Kaylin? Something with a K and an oddly placed Y. Always on time. Never any trouble. What the fuck’s her name? I should know it by now. She’s worked for us for at least six months.
Gee, who’d you meet about six months ago?
Is Emily the reason I can’t remember an employee’s name? Or is it because dozens of dancers come and go through Crystal Ball every year?
“What’s up, Kyra?”I’m ninety-nine percent sure it’s Kyra.
“Kyla,” she corrects.
So close.
“Kai-luh.” She repeats each syllable in slow motion.
“Kyla. Yes. What’s on your mind?” I curl my fingers, motioning her closer.
She shuffles into my office, closing the door behind her. Threads from the hem of her tight, flared jeans trail over the floor. Those, combined with her snug brown turtleneck, hint that she’s not planning to grace the stage tonight.
“Swan told me to come see you.”
I stand and walk around the edge of my desk, stopping to lean against the front of it. Swan’s moved on to teaching yoga instead of dancing, but she still works here as a sort of “den mom” for the other dancers. She could’ve sent Kyla to me for a number of reasons. I glance at my phone. No texts.
A heads-up would’ve been nice, Swan.
I cross my arms over my chest and run my gaze over Kyla’s small, thin frame. She squirms and shifts her feet, her sneakers squeaking against the industrial-tile floor.
My gaze lands on a patch of blue skin near her eye. Something she didn’t quite cover with her heavy makeup.
I stand straighter and lean toward her. “Come here.”
Hesitant, she steps closer. I rest my hand on her shoulder. She winces. My gaze drops to a ring of purple around her wrist, and she quickly tugs her sleeve down.
Gently, I pick up her hand, push the material out of the way, and study the mark. Someone gripped her hard for a period of time. I release her hand and touch a finger to her chin, turning her head slightly. Jesus fuck. This close, bruising on the whole side of her face is visible.
