Page 28 of A King’s Obsession

“Working on it,” I told her, holding her gaze a second longer than necessary.

I asked what brought her to Westhaven, and she nodded toward the dance floor, where Ashlynn was still enjoying herself with Malachi.

“Ashlynn, mostly,” she explained. “I needed a change, and she told me y'all were hiring.”

“So you just packed up and came?” I asked, curious about what would make somebody leave everything behind that quickly.

Jru's expression shifted slightly. “It wasn't like I had a whole lot keeping me in Rosemont.”

Something about the way she said it told me there was more to that story. Her voice hadn't changed much, but her eyes had, and I knew better than to start pressing somebody about shit they clearly weren't ready to discuss. Instead, I let the subject go.

She traced one finger around the edge of her glass before looking at me again. “I'll like Westhaven a whole lot better once I find a steady paycheck, though.”

“You need the job that bad?” I asked, studying her.

Her eyes lifted to mine, and the playful expression she'd been wearing disappeared. “I need a job that bad,” she corrected quietly.

There was a difference, and I heard it. She wasn't asking for a favor or looking for somebody to hand her anything. She wanted to work. Wanted to make her own money. And here I was, making sure she didn't get hired because I couldn't keep my damn eyes off her.

Before I could say anything else, Ashlynn and Malachi returned, laughing about something that had happened on the dance floor. Ashlynn was fixing her hair while Malachi looked entirely too pleased with himself. Whatever moment had settled between Jru and me disappeared as Ashlynn slid into the booth and started talking.

But Jru's words stayed with me.

She needed a job. I had more than enough money, but I wasn't about to insult her by offering to throw some at her. I needed to figure out how to help her without putting her on my payroll at Vice, because that was one decision I wasn't changing.

I glanced toward her again as she laughed at something Ashlynn said. She had no idea what she'd started tonight, and if I was being honest, neither did I.

I didn't know what the fuck I was going to do about Jru Sinclair yet.

But I knew I wasn't done with her.

Chapter 7

Three weeks in Westhaven, and for the first time in a long damn time, my life felt quiet. Not boring. Peaceful. There was a difference, and I was finally starting to appreciate it.

“Your phone ringing again,” Ashlynn said from her spot on my bed.

I glanced toward the dresser while fastening the gold watch around my wrist. Mama's name flashed across the screen for the third time that evening. I watched it vibrate against the wood before turning back toward the mirror.

“You ain't answering?” Ashlynn asked, looking up from her phone with her eyebrows raised.

“Nope,” I answered, reaching for my earrings.

She studied me for a moment, probably because she'd expected a different answer. Hell, so had I. Three weeks ago, Mama calling me back-to-back would've had my stomach in knots. I would've answered before the second ring, already preparing myself for whatever emergency she'd managed to create. Tonight, I let it go to voicemail.

I adjusted the structured black pinstripe corset hugging my waist, its pointed hem dipping over my dark wide-leg pants. Gold earrings, chunky bracelets, my watch, and pointed gold heels pulled everything together. My sleek bob curved neatly against my jaw, and after pushing my glasses higher on my nose, I reached for my perfume. A little Coach Gold Parfum first, followed by Armani My Way Sunny Vanilla.

“Fuck both of them,” I muttered, spraying the perfume across my neck.

Ashlynn's head popped up. “Oop.”

“I mean it.” I set the bottle down, catching her reflection in the mirror. “She wasn't answering my calls when she was fucking my man, and Montae damn sure wasn't worried about me when he left my ass stranded at work.”

The amusement disappeared from Ashlynn's face. She lowered her phone into her lap, studying me with an expression that softened around the edges.

“I'm just surprised you haven't answered,” she admitted.

Truthfully, so was I. Mama had been leaving voicemails about being homeless and needing me, while Montae kept calling from different numbers after I stopped answering his. I didn't know what the fuck he wanted, and I didn't care enough to find out. Mama was harder. Every time her name appeared, that old instinct kicked in, making me wonder whether she'd eaten, whether she was safe, or whether she'd gotten high again.