Chapter 4: Follow Them
895 Words
The office was thick with cigarette smoke.
Michael sat behind his massive desk, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. One hand scrolled through the casino accounts on his laptop, the other held a cigarette, the tip glowing orange every time he inhaled.
Outside, Dora paused at the door.
She checked her reflection in the glass, smoothed her tight black dress down her hips, pushed her chest up just a little, and let her lipstick shine. She’d done this a hundred times. Michael liked problems solved, not problems reported. But he also liked the view.
She knocked. Two soft taps.
“Come in.”
Dora pushed the door open with her hip and let it swing shut behind her.
“Mr. Williams,” she purred.
Michael didn’t look up.
She didn’t wait for permission. She walked straight to his desk and perched herself on the edge of it, close enough that her perfume cut through the smoke. Vanilla and something expensive.
“Two of the new waitresses called in sick. VIP floor is short‑staffed and the clients are being assholes as usual. Slow service, wrong orders… you know how they get.”
Michael kept scrolling.
Dora leaned forward a little more. The neckline of her dress dipped.
“I thought you’d want to hear it from me. In person.”
Finally, he exhaled smoke and closed the laptop. Click.
Dora smiled. That was her win.
His dark eyes lifted to hers. Cold. Bored.
“Dora.”
“Mr. Williams.”
“For three days I’ve been looking for my missing money. People are wasting my time. And you walk in here, sitting on my desk, telling me girls have the flu.”
His voice was calm. That was what made new girls cry. But Dora had been with him for four years. She knew that tone.
She didn’t flinch. She tilted her head, smile still in place, though a little tighter now.
“I’m not wasting your time. I’m telling you your VIP floor is about to complain to you directly. And you hate that.”
Michael stood. His chair rolled back hard.
“If the girls are sick, replace them.”
“Already on it.” Her eyes followed him as he came around the desk. She didn’t move from her spot.
“If you can’t replace them…” He stopped right in front of her. Too close. He looked down at her, smoke and cologne and power.
Dora looked up, her lips parted. She reached out, just barely—her fingers brushing his wrist.
“Then you’ll replace me? You always say that.”
Michael looked at her hand on him for one second. Then removed it. No anger. Just dismissal.
“Don’t touch me, Dora.”
Her smile finally cracked. Just for a second. Jealousy and hurt flashed before she covered it again.
“Understood?” he said.
“Yes, sir,” she said, voice a little less soft now.
At that exact moment, his phone rang.
Brad.
He answered immediately. “What?”
Dora stayed perched on his desk, arms crossed now.
“Boss. We checked the spot Freddy gave us.”
“And?”
“Nothing. Bag wasn’t there. Someone got there first. Or maybe he lied.”
The room went dead quiet.
Michael’s jaw ticked. The cigarette snapped between his fingers. Ash fell on his expensive rug.
“Explain.”
“We searched twice. Every bush. Every corner. But we found something.”
“You have five seconds.”
“Saw two girls acting suspicious at the mall. Already checked their backgrounds.”
Michael sat down slowly. Interested now.
“Names.”
“Joy Cameron. Loveleen Brown. Two girls. One grew up with nothing. Mother died of cancer. The other, her family has money. They’ve been spending all day. Way too much money for their backgrounds.”
A slow smile touched Michael’s mouth. The kind that never reached his eyes.
Dora saw that smile and her hands fisted in her lap.
“You think they found it.”
“I think it’s possible.”
Michael leaned back and laughed. Low. Cold. Humorless.
“Follow them.”
“Already started.”
“Good. I want to know where they go. Who they talk to. What they buy. And if either of them tries to disappear…”
He didn’t finish. Brad understood.
“So do I bring them in?”
Michael looked out at the city lights, circling two names on a piece of paper.
Joy Cameron. Loveleen Brown.
“No. Not yet. They’ll lead us to the money.”
“Understood.” The call ended.
Michael set the phone down and look at Dora. She was still sitting on his desk, watching him with that look she’d had for years possessive, frustrated, obsessed.
“Find new staff,” he said, lighting another cigarette. The flame lit up his face.
“Fresh waitresses. Our VIP clients are bored. And bored clients cost me money.”
Dora slid off his desk slowly. She fixed her dress, her eyes lingering on him.
“I’ll handle it,” she said, her voice sweet again. Too sweet. “Anything for you, Mr. Williams.”
The door shut.
Michael was alone again. Just the ticking clock.
He stared at the two circled names.
“Let’s see how long you two can keep my money.”
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