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“My roommate’s missing.”
Imani laughs again, slurping on her soda. “Jael? Jael’s not missing.”
“She’s not?”
“Jael?” she repeats. “I’ve never met the girl… but after everything you’ve told me, you do know what she does, right? She’s probably with whomever her latest sugar daddy is.”
“Paolo.”
“Yeah, him. Whoever he is, she’s with him.”
“I haven’t seen her in over a week.”
“And? Girls like Jael, they go where the money goes. She’s probably in Italy on his yacht or holed up in whatever resort he’s got her in.”
“He has a yacht here in America. Along the coast of Montbec.”
“Of course he does. They always do. And you’re worried why?”
“Her stuff has been cleared out of her room.”
“She probably came back when you weren’t around and moved out. Especially if she owes Taviar some rent.”
Imani has an answer for everything. Maybe I’m overreacting.
I grip the laminated menu detailing the day’s special, a chickpea curry packed with spices and herbs, and pretend I’m possibly going to order it for lunch.
What I’mreallydoing is thinking over how to tell Imani what’s on my mind. If I’ll sound crazy as hell telling her about what happened at the Winchester. Imani works at an adult shop and isn’t a stranger to the world of kink, but secret sex party thrown by powerful elites sounds like every nutty conspiracy theorist out there.
I can hear the ring of her laughter now.Especiallywhen I go into detail about the guy whose dick I chomped into.
There’s also the chance Imani might take me seriously and insist I go to the authorities. Back when we worked together as Christmas Elves (the odd job where we’d met), she was the one who led the charge against the pervy Santa Claus who was groping the female elves. She takes things like consent very seriously.
A sexual assault on a performance stage would be a crusade for her.
Meanwhile, I just want to forget it happened and for my roommate to remember where she lives.
“What are you doing the rest of the day?” Imani asks once we’ve ordered and our food has been delivered.
I wound up ordering the chickpea curry.
“Job hunting.”
“I thought you just got the thing at the Velvet Piano?”
“That won’t last.”
Imani tilts her head. “Isn’t it your first week?”
“There’s a good chance I might beat my record. I was fired in a week and a half waitressing at Steinman’s Bar and Grill. It’s looking like I won’t even last a week at Velvet.”
“But you’re an excellent piano player! Is it the nerves again? Ly, what have I told you? You’ve gotta get over that!”
I cringe in my seat, stirring my spoon in my curry. “I know, I know. It’s easier said than done. Something comes over me the second I look out at the audience and walk on stage.”
“Then don’t look at them. Look at your piano.”
“My eyes have a mind of their own. They dart straight to the audience. I can feel their stares.”
