Chapter Eight

SARAH

With that hair, look, and makeup, Ruby was clearly yanked straight from a strip club mid-shift.

Her eyes? A masterpiece of sleepless drama—smudged liner, panda vibes strong, like she’s been rubbing them raw after 24 hours at the precinct.

Her curls? Total chaos. Not “sunset in Sedona” vibes—more like forest fire in July. Her lipstick—fire-truck red—somehow still flawless. Either she’s got supernatural staying power… or it’s the real deal, not some drugstore knockoff that flakes after two sips of water.

There’s that black leather jacket again, with its one lonely button doing its best to hold things together and failing gloriously. Her assets? Fully on display. And that dress—red, tight, barely there…

“Listen, I didn’t put Leonardo in the hospital. I’m innocent. And you’ve got no right dragging me in here like some criminal. If you can’t treat a lady right, at least do your damn job and catch the actual culprit.” She’s not arguing—she’s stating facts

Ruby’s got that “I’ve been here before” energy—because she has. Too many nights at the station, too many DUIs, until they finally took her license.

She still drinks—hard—but doesn’t drive. One rule kept.

Grey stands tense, hands shoved deep in his pockets.

The officer beside him? Leaned back, casual, one arm on the counter.

But Grey’s all focus. Voice cool, cutting. “We know you didn’t do this. But we also know—you know who did."

Ruby snaps back, “I don't know, okay?! I have no idea! Now would you please take these handcuffs off me before I start yelling fire and get a crowd in here?”

I swallow, my throat dry, my heart racing. It's getting hot in here. Too hot. I glance around, the AC's gentle hum mocking me with its ineffectiveness.

“Sarah Brooks,” Grey says the name, and my breath stops. “Your roommate. Where is she?”

“I have no idea. Haven't seen her for months now.”

“Really?” Grey says, eyebrow arched.

"I swear, I haven’t seen Sarah in months. That’s the truth.”

Grey doesn’t blink. Me? I’m holding my breath, praying he doesn’t turn that gaze on me.

Ruby opens her mouth to speak—then falters, stumbling over a half-spoken “she—”

Her gaze flicks to me. Not deliberate. Not planned.

But there it is, eyes locking onto mine. She squints, those dark, sharp eyes narrowing.

My eyes dart to the side—casual, I hope.

Like I’m just checking the door, the floor, the clock…

Grey’s still got that interrogator’s edge—calm, focused, “You're ready to finally say something?” He asks.

“Huh? I—I… Like I already said. I haven't seen Sarah for months now. Last she told me she was skipping town to become a farmer in Bolivia or something. Check there; you might find her. She was in a rush to leave but didn't exactly tell me why. How would I even know she’s running from cops? She never tells me anything.”

I just pray I don’t collapse from all the tension.

Grey’s eyes stay locked on Ruby, jaw tight, teeth grinding.

Then, calm as ice:

“Give me an address. Where in Bolivia? Or a relative’s contact. Anything…”

***

Fingers crossed—really crossed—hoping Ruby gets out soon.

I lean back in the driver's seat, tension easing as I picture Ruby walking free. The drive’s quiet—just the hum of the road and the GPS’s soft pulse. My eyes flick between the screen and the street and Grey.

Through the rearview, he's a shadow—still, quiet, gaze fixed out the window.

We roll up to the hotel. Towering above the entrance, bold metallic letters spell Reels Empire, glowing faintly with understated luxury. Just beneath it, in smaller, more reserved lettering, sits Grey Inc.

The lobby is hushed and expansive—marble floors, soft lighting, and the quiet hum of money and efficiency. People move with purpose, dressed sharp, speaking low.

Grey walks a few steps ahead, straight-backed, and confident. He doesn’t rush, but he doesn’t pause—just nods, subtle and formal, to the receptionist as we pass. She returns it, a flicker of recognition in her eyes.

We step into the elevator. The doors close with a whisper. And just like that, the world outside fades—leaving only silence and the slow climb upward.

The elevator doors open, and our footsteps echo down the bright, polished corridor. We stop at the door, and Grey pulls the key card free and slides it into the slot.

A soft click. The light turns green.

He pushes the door open, steps inside, and slips off his jacket. The room feels heavier now—hotter. I adjust my hat, and pat down the beard.

“We’ve got forty minutes,” he says, turning to me. “Eddie’ll be there. Perfect chance for us to show up together. We need to be seen—as a couple.”

My gaze moves across the bed—two impeccably tailored suits waiting, crisp and untouched.

Cufflinks gleam beside polished brogues, mirrors in black leather. Cologne bottles, open and fragrant. Diamond-studded watches catching the light…

I glance back at Grey—now shirtless—the way his back tapers down, the ripple in his arms as he reaches for his fly…

Alright, Sarah—mental note: he’s gay. Not “maybe,” not “mysterious,” not “let me win him over.” So yeah, perhaps dial back the staring and the fantasy screenplay you’re writing in your head.

I’m still staring—way too long—when he starts to undo his fly.

Our eyes lock.

I gulp. “Sir?” I say, forcing my eyes up—like I’ve just arrived, like I wasn’t just silently witnessing an entire undressing.

His eyes narrow. “Your voice…”

Gulp.

I subtly clear my throat, pitch dropping—too late—realizing I just sounded like Sarah. Not Sam.

And now Grey’s listening. Really listening.

Damn it.

“You sounded different back there, Sam,” he says calmly, certain something’s off, not sure what.

“Well… um… that’s because—” My fingers jump to my neck, rubbing absently. “Sore throat. Yeah. Hurts when I talk.”

He tilts his head, just a fraction. “Go ahead, change. We’ll stop at the pharmacy first—get you something for that… And if I make you uncomfortable? The closet's there. Use it.”