Dulce

3

Newsflash. I did not set my alarm, and I slept for a solid six hours, which means I’m now running late and Sugar will kick my ass.

I jump out of the cab, which has pulled up outside of The Candy Shop headquarters. The building is nondescript on the outside, resembling every other office block, but inside is another matter altogether.

The gleaming glossy cream-tiled floor greets you when you walk in, making the lobby feel opulent, especially teamed with the cream walls, local abstract artwork adorning them, and a sumptuously thick cream rug in the center of the room.

Set on top of the rug is a glass coffee table with a vase in the center filled with freshly cut white roses.

And on either side of the table is a cream sofa that looks stylish, but they’re also pretty comfortable too. Each sofa has an appropriate amount of throw pillows in golds and creams. Too few and the room feels too clinical, too many and the room looks cluttered. Okay, I don’t know if that’s true, but that’s what Sugar said, and that woman knows her shit.

Directly in front of me is a tall marble counter where Penny, the receptionist, sits with a little headset over her head, taking and redirecting calls.

I hurry to her, my heels making a click-clack across the tile, which catches Penny’s attention. When she lifts her head, she scowls at me, tapping her watch before she answers another call.

I wave, ignoring the scowl, and make a beeline for the elevator at the back of the room. When the doors slip closed behind me, I hit the button for the top floor and check myself out in the mirrored walls.

Hair in a neat-ish high ponytail. Red lips with nothing on my teeth, check. Black skinny jeans that I had to lie on the bed to fasten, a slouchy heather-gray off-the-shoulder sweater, and high heeled black suede booties finish the look that says effortlessly chic. I nearly had a heart attack trying to find something to wear and get here on time.

When the doors slide open, I take a deep breath and stroll out of the elevator with a sway in my hips and a smile on my face. I wave to Tilly, Sugar’s assistant, who motions for me to go straight in, so I do. Without knocking.

Sugar is standing in nothing but a black push-up bra, a tiny black thong, a garter belt and stockings, and heels higher than mine.

She turns to look at me and sighs. “One of these days, you’ll walk right in and see something that will scar you for life.”

“I doubt it. Not much phases me. You look banging, by the way. What’s the occasion?”

“A new client has a very particular taste.”

“Hmm…he must. You don’t usually do many of these yourself anymore.”

“Most people want a younger model.” She shrugs before slipping into the attached bathroom, leaving the door open so we can hear each other talk.

“Most people are idiots. You’re thirty years old. You’re in the prime of your life.”

“You don’t need to convince me, Dulce. I’m not bothered by it. Most men are a waste of time, anyway.”

She steps back into the room wearing a wraparound plum-colored dress, her dark chestnut hair up in a neat chignon.

She carries a little bag from La Perla, which I assume holds her new racy underwear, and places it on the royal blue sofa under the window.

“Sit down. You want a drink?”

“I’d give you my firstborn child for a coffee.”

“I’ll pass. I have my hands full enough with you all, but speaking of kids…” She lets her words hang as she hits the button on her phone and asks Tilly to bring in two coffees.

“No,” I answer, already picking up what she’s putting down.

“Now, don’t be like that. You’ve already done a lot of the groundwork.”

“You can’t seriously be sending me back to school again. Why do you hate me, Sugar? What did I ever do to you?”

“Christ, the drama. I’ll throw in that pretty Corvette you’ve been eyeing.” I perk up at that. Sugar makes me rely on cabs or public transport because, and I quote, I’m a fucking lunatic.

“Look, as much as I don’t want to go back, it’s not the only factor stopping me. I burned a lot of bridges leaving like I did.”

An image of Griffen’s face floats through my head, but I shut it down, not willing to go there right now.

“Teenage girls are fickle creatures who freak out easily. It won’t be hard for people to assume you heard the news about Edward Young, panicked, and fled. It’s why I’m going to get you to use the same identity as before. Edward is still behind bars and isn’t the primary target here. I won’t even be sending you back to Whitmore. This time, you’ll be a little farther down the coast at Willow Creek Academy.”

She tosses the school prospectus across the table, so I pick it up and flick through it.

“I vaguely remember hearing about this place. I didn’t spend much time thinking about it since I had my hands full, but I do remember the rumors. This isn’t a high school?” I remember that part too. The kids were a year or two older than the ones I was trying to infiltrate.

“Let’s just say this place is special.” Sugar smiles, but I’m not buying that bullshit answer.

I lean back and kick my feet up on the edge of her desk.

Three…two…one…

She shoves my feet off, making me laugh.

“Fine. It’s…like a last chance place for rich kids who blew through their parent’s money and realized they had nothing to show for it. No school is willing to take them on without a sizable donation, but then there is no guarantee the kids will toe the line even then. This place is a little more structured than your regular college.”

I frown but don’t press. The ins and outs of it don’t really matter.

“This place has been up and running for fifteen years. What’s going on there now that was missed before?”

“Trafficking.”

I sigh. I freaking knew it.

“So, they picked up where Edward left off.”

“Not quite. From everything we found on Edward, he was just a cog in the wheel. He liked to sample the underage girls, but he wasn’t an active member of any particular sex ring. He turned a blind eye to their activities, even pointed out a vulnerable family or two, but he never went further than that.”

“No, because he had it made. A well-respected widowed teacher, raising his son alone. He effortlessly made himself seem meek and sad when he was actually a manipulative bastard.”

“Indeed. He just preferred staying on the fringes, thinking it would stop him from getting dragged down with the others if a sting operation took place.”

“Best laid plans and all that.” I snort.