Page 29 of The Rules

Tammy exhales sharply, a sound like splintering ice, shaking her head. Not in disbelief. In warning. Her blue eyes have gone dark, haunted by something Kath can't name.

"Listen to me." Tammy’s voice drops to barely above a whisper, each word weighted with urgency. "That man doesn’t lose. And people who ask the wrong questions about him?

They don’t get answers. They get problems."

Katherine’s spine straightens, tension coiling between her shoulders. Thecafe suddenly feels too warm, too exposed.

"What kind of problems?"

Tammy's gaze darts around the room, cataloging exits, checking shadows.

"Two lawyers tried to challenge one of his cases a few years back." The pause stretches like a wound. "One of them? Changed his name. Moved states. The other?"

A beat of silence—thick enough to choke on.

“No one’s seen him since.”

Katherine’s fingers whiten around the coffee cup. The drink is cold now. Her blood? Colder.

She doesn’t speak right away. Her gaze drifts back to the slow swirl inside the mug, as if searching for answers in the spiraling sediment.

The weight of it all tugs at her features—thoughts folding inward like smoke, silent and suffocating.

Tammy watches her for a beat, then tilts her head, mouth quirking into a lopsided smile. Her voice is light, teasing—but there’s something gentler under the surface. “Careful, Winters. That brooding thing? You’re starting to worry me.”

Tammy’s eyes sparkle, but the sharpness has softened—more curiosity now than provocation. A kind of alertness that says she’s paying attention.

“Okay, something else is on your mind,” Tammy declares, her voice edged with amusement. “Spill it."

Kath considers dodging. Lying. Then sighs.

"Fine," she mutters, stirring her coffee too hard, watching the liquid whirl like her thoughts. “You remember that private dance client I told you about?"

Tammy’s eyes instantly light up.

“Oh, hell yes." Tammy leans in, grinning. "The one who crushed some poor bastard in a bidding war just to see you?"

Katherine exhales through her nose. Flat. Dry. Unamused.

“Yeah. That one."

Tammy smirks, clearly enjoying this. “What about him?"

Katherine stares into her coffee, watching cream spiral through dark liquid like smoke. Her fingers trace the rim of the ceramic mug, buying precious seconds before the confession burns its way up her throat.

"I found out who he is."

Tammy leans forward, predatory interest lighting her delicate features. The motion sends a waft of jasmine perfume across the table. "And?"

Kath lifts her gaze, throat tight. Her face tightens, the name scraping past her teeth like something bitter. "Sinclair."

Tammy blinks. Once. Twice. The silence stretches razor-thin between them as understanding dawns in her friend's wide blue eyes.

Then—she detonates.

“Wait.” Tammy’s spine snaps straight, hands flat against the table.

“As in… Benjamin Sinclair?”