Page 14 of Black Sheep
Be patient. It will work. Persevere.
Perseverance is another trait learned from my father. He had a quiet sense of power coupled with unrelenting determination. You might think he’d abandoned a problem or investigation, but he never did. He’d continue wearing away at it like water through the Grand Canyon.
“Good investigative journalists aren’t always flashy and bold. There’s a lot to be said for subtlety.”
Subtlety. I can do that. Well, maybe after I figure out which pricey cigar is shoved so far up Tanya’s ass that she can barely stand to look at me.
“What’s her deal?” I ask Letty as she sets a vodka martini on the tray of drinks she and I are serving to a rapper and a record exec in the corner.
“Whose deal?” Letty looks around, as if there’s another woman here other than the two of us.
“Tanya’s.”
Before she can answer me, Grice appears at my side.
“Need one of you to take the door for a minute. Boss is gone, Matteo’s busy, and Tanya’s not back yet. Shouldn’t be anyone coming in, though. I gotta run down to meet a delivery.”
“Tanya will kill us all if I let Drew serve tables by herself.” Letty glances from Grice to me. “You comfortable handling the door?”
Like any new employee, I give her an energetic nod. “Sure. Of course. Whatever you need.”
“Thanks, Ms. Carson.”
I follow Grice to the entrance, and he points to the corner where he usually stands.
“Hang out here. I’ll be back in five. Members need a keycard to get up to this floor without an escort, but hopefully no one shows while I’m gone.”
“I can handle it, Grice. Do what you need to do.”
The big man exits the club, and I stand sentry, wishing he’d left me guarding a room I could scour for papers that might bring me one step closer to answers. Unfortunately, the foyer, with its high ceiling, heavy brass light fixtures, grandfather clock, and carefully tended fiddle-leaf fig tree offer none. Why I know it’s a fiddle-leaf fig can be attributed to my stepmother, who is almost as particular about her indoor plants as she is about her cosmetic surgeries. She currently looks forty-five, but if she’s not careful, she’ll look like a newly face-lifted Joan Rivers in a few years.
The grandfather clock ticks over three minutes before the door opens. I smile, expecting to see Grice returning more quickly than expected, but it’s not. Instead, it’s a man with a confident stride.
“Nice to see they’ve upgraded the help around here to a pretty girl instead of that goon who usually watches the door. How’s it going, honey?”
Something about this guy immediately rubs me the wrong way, and his leer makes me feel like I need to shower.
“Grice will be back in a few minutes. I’m helping him out.”
The man steps toward me and attempts to drop his voice lower, but the pitch is still too high for his purpose. “How about I let you help me out instead? You’re a little old for my taste, but I’d still give you a good ride.”
All of my creeper alerts are going crazy, but instead of sayingEw, gross. Never fucking ever, I smile and reply politely. “I’m sorry, sir. That’s against club policy.”
I stretch out a hand to wave him toward the club, but Tanya enters the main door.
The man spins around to look at Tanya, and her face goes white.
“What are you doing here?” she asks him quickly before her gaze darts to me. “And where the hell is Grice?”
“He’s meeting a delivery,” I say, wondering what I’m missing here. “He left me in charge of the door for five minutes.”
“Fucking hell.”
The man’s smooth, affable smile disappears. “Where’s my favorite little bitch? You know you can’t keep her from me.”
“None of your goddamned business,” Tanya snaps. “And I sure as hell can.”
What the hell is going on here?My attention jumps between them as Tanya’s expression twists with murderous rage.
