Page 120 of Forgotten Comeback

Having been paid with a thick envelope of cash, I have every intention of walking to my car and going home. And yet I find myself at the VIP entrance of the club.

If I were here looking for Gavin, that would be really dumb. Good thing I’m here for the free buffet.

Yeah, that’s it.

Flashing my ring girl credentials, I get into the roped-off area and take a look around. Oh no. Mia’s bounding over.

“Taylor, I’ve been trying to get in touch with you?—”

“Not because of my car’s extended warranty?” I say deadpan.

“What?”

“That was a joke. Never mind.” Gavin would’ve got that one, but oh yeah, he’s a little pussy that ghosted me. Now that I think about it, I do have a horrible track record of picking emotionally unavailable partners.

Realizing Mia’s said something, I ask her, “Sorry, what was that?”

“The dealers at the Diamond, they said you put in your notice,” Mia repeats.

“Yep,” I say, popping the p again. Why, I don’t know. I’m not a p popper.

“I need to talk to Gavin,” she tells me quietly.

“Good luck with that.” I walk off.

“Wait!” Mia catches up with me. “My cousin’s missing, and I need answers,” she whispers.

“Sorry, I don’t have any answers to give you.” Everyone keeps asking me, and dammit, I don’t have any answers.

“Gavin was pressed about the family, and I’m afraid he got my cousin killed,” she whispers.

“If you keep digging, you’ll get yourself killed,” I warn her quietly. “Those people don’t play around.”

“Are you with Gavin?” Mia eyes me.

I bristle, prickly as Bonnie’s needles. “Why do you care?”

“Taylor, I made a mistake. I miss you.” She touches my arm.

“Go fuck with your ‘just friends’ co-worker and leave me alone.” I spin on my heel and march off.

Joining the buffet line to have something to do other than be around Mia, my shoulder gets a light tap. “Yes?” I turn around, finding a beautiful blonde woman in her early forties; she’s dressed in a killer suit and a pair of heels.

“Hi there. I was wondering about your round signs. A little birdie told me you’re the artist?”

I smile politely. “Yes, I’m the artist.”

“You’re very talented,” she gushes.

“Thank you.” My smile brightens. “I’ve seen you at bouts. You’re the ringside doc, right?”

“I am. Forgive me, my name’s Effie.”

“Taylor.”

“Taylor, would you be interested in painting for an event?” she asks.

“Maybe. What kind of event?”