Cyrus expected JoJo Skaggs to be a gangster. A good-looking guy in a debonair Armani suit and impeccable swirling tie, surrounded by an entourage of muscled men. Who else would own a shady nightclub and ride around in a stretch limousine? Who else could the woman draped in mink at the corner possibly be waiting for?
Instead, a pair of shiny burgundy bluchers stepped out of the limo. Attached to them, brown corduroy pants that flared out at the bottom, covered slightly by an oversized chocolate mink coat that ruffled in the cold wind. Cyrus’s eyes rose to a beige turtleneck with a gold chain that reflected off the waning sunlight like ice, and round burnt umber-colored sunglasses.
Cyrus’s eyes stopped at the man’s head. JoJo Skaggs was a small man. Couldn’t have been more than five feet t
