“We would love to, but we already have dinner plans—” “Cancel them,” he cuts in. “Be here at six PM, sharp. Oh, and I heard little Stephanie Thompson was back in the States. Bring her as well.” With that, he hangs up the phone. Fuck. My eyes swing to Skyla, a foreboding feeling settling in. I don’t like her around him. I don’t like the way he looks at her, the way he talks to her, and I don’t like that I never have any idea what he’s up to. It’s like playing chess with only half a board. How are you supposed to play the game if you can’t see the moves your opponent is making? “What’s wrong?”
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