“I–I didn’t mean it like that.”
Tracy’s hand flew to her mouth, eyes wide, almost convincing.
I stepped closer to the mirror. The stain wasn’t obvious, but I could feel it — the cold, sticky weight of red wine sinking into fabric that cost a fortune.
“What the hell is wrong with you, Tracy?” I turned slowly. “Are you insane?”
“I’m sorry, I could—”
“Get out.”
She hesitated for half a second too long.
“Get the hell out of my face.”
She rushed past me, heels clicking fast, but not fast enough to hide the satisfied curve of her lips as she left.
I stood there, breathing through my nose, staring at my reflection. I looked composed. That was the worst part. Everything ugly was happening under the surface.
People would start coming in any minute.
I pulled out my phone and called August
