“Sure you don’t. Look, I’m gonna say my piece then move on. That girl’s trouble. I think you need to be careful. And that’s all I’m gonna say about it.” I could practically see her throwing up her hands as she said it.

“Heard,” I said, hearing footsteps upstairs.

Saff was up.

And, knowing her, ready to run.

Hell, bolt. Especially after finding out she’d spent the whole night.

“I’ll be at the office in an hour or so.”

I hung up just as Saff was running down the stairs. Fully dressed, save for the bra that was still half-hidden under the couch.

She didn’t even try to go find it as she rushed through the living area, pulling to an abrupt stop when she spotted me.

“Oh.” She looked disappointed, likely thinking I’d already headed to the office, so she could sneak out without a confrontation. “Morning,” she mumbled, dropping her mug on the island as far away from me as possible, then rushing toward the elevator without another word.

Maybe I was supposed to call her back, to follow her out.

I got the feeling, though, that Saff was a bit like a feral dog. Not unlovable, just skittish, distrustful. And someone had made her that way.

So maybe the best way to handle her was to keep offering affection. Until, slowly, little by little, she came to seek it out herself.

She rushed inside the elevator, keeping her head down. But she couldn’t leave without one more look. As the doors slid closed, her gaze lifted, found mine, held.

Then she was gone.

I stood there for a long moment, my mind reeling.

Then I reached for my phone, shooting off a text to Teresa.

Change of plans. Not coming in today.

By the time I finished washing out our mugs, my phone was dinging.

Just remember: condoms are cheaper than child support and antibiotics.

I laughed before making my way back upstairs, changing out of my suit and into a pair of sports pants and a t-shirt, wanting to be able to blend in.

Because I was heading my ass out to Brooklyn again.

Not to check on the club.

To see what, if anything, I could find out about Saff.

I might not know a whole lot about her—yet—but I did know where she liked to get her coffee. And that she had a pretty heavy reading habit.

There had to be people in the local coffee shop or bookstore that could tell me something about her.

With that in mind, I called Calvin, then caught up on some work emails on the ride toward Saff’s neck of the woods.

“If you could,” I said as I climbed out of the car an hour later, “don’t park anywhere near the club.”