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“I don’t want to hear where she ‘might’have gone. We don’t spend hundreds of thousands on security for ‘might.’ Fucking find out where she went.Now.”
“What’s the deal with this girl? Do you know her?”
I undo my tie and throw it at the stairs. “No. That’s the problem.”
“You didn’t know half of the people here, and you could care less.”
“Those people didn’t break into my office and…” My voice trails off. I didn’t intend to share that tidbit. There are no cameras in my office, despite the way I made it sound to Francia. Our moment will forever remain private.
Yasha stands tall. “You think she was sent here to gather information? Who sent her?”
I consider the question. If Francia was a spy, I would have known. I would have realized. She told me she was a reporter, which was clearly a lie.
But I don’t have any other reason to care this much about where she went.
“That’s what you’re going to find out. Track her down. Tell me when you have.”
Yasha nods solemnly. “We’ll have her by morning.”
Damn right we will.
No one can hide from me.
12
CORA
I’ll never take panties for granted again.
Even working the early shift at Quintaño's with a horribly hungover Jorden can’t bring me down. I’m clothed and far, far away from the influence of Ivan Pushkin.
Life is good.
“How is theremoregum under this table?” Jorden is doubled over, head under booth thirteen. “I just cleaned it, like, two days ago.”
“Middle schoolers,” I call.
A regular group of scrawny middle-school boys always claim that booth on Sunday mornings. They buy nothing but soda and one appetizer to share and they always tip in pennies. I wouldn’t mind so much if they didn’t also leave their chewing gum plastered under the table.
Jorden stamps her foot. “I’m not letting them in today. They can find somewhere else to eat.”
“Right,” I say, sarcasm thick. “And you’ll say that even when they tell you you’re the prettiest waitress they’ve ever seen? Or when they ask for your phone number and slip you little love notes on the back of their napkins?”
Jorden smirks. “Maybe I wouldn’t be so starved for attention if you hadn’t dragged me away from Hot Athlete.”
“The fact that you’re calling him ‘Hot Athlete’ instead of a name doesn’t bode well for the strength of that relationship.”
“Screw the ‘strength of the relationship,’” Jorden says. “He was anathlete. That means stamina, Cora. Power. Flexibility.Are you hearing me? Are you understanding?”
I wrinkle my nose. “Everyone understands. You’re gross.”
“Says the skank who came home in nothing but a man’s suit jacket!”
I hiss and spin towards the swinging kitchen doors. They’re still closed and I can hear the kitchen staff clanging pots around, so Francia probably can’t hear us. But still—better safe than sorry.
I whirl back to face Jorden. “We’renottalking about that,” I say through gritted teeth. “I’m going to repair that very expensive dress and get it back to Francia. No one will ever know it happened.”
That’s the plan, anyway. I shoved the dress in my purse before I left Ivan’s office. By the time I got home last night, I was too wound up to think about it. Then I woke up and came right into work today. I’ll check the damage when I get back to my apartment after my shift.
