“The last time I heard from her was when she asked me to get you some stuff for your hotel stay. I did reach out after that, but she never got back to me. She doesn’t like me, either.” Zoe lets out a small laugh. “But I can help you find a new lawyer, if you want. I can make some calls.”
“Would you?” Paris says, relieved. “I’m happy to put you back on the payroll.”
Zoe waves a hand. “No. I think it’s time for me to move on. But I’ll help. As a friend.”
They exchange tentative smiles.
“Hey,” Paris says. “Before you go, can you fix the smart home thing? It’s not working on my new phone. I think it might be disconnected.”
“It wasn’t working on mine, either.” Zoe stands up and frowns. “I can call the company and ask them to reset it, but technically Jimmy is the administrator, so they might not talk to me.” She looks around the kitchen. “Are you all right for now? I stocked the fridge, so there’s stuff to cook if you want to.”
“I’m okay,” Paris says. “I just … I don’t know where I’ll sleep tonight. I’m not sure I can bring myself to go upstairs.”
An image of Jimmy in a tub full of his own blood flickers through her mind.
“I called a cleaning service that specializes in crime scenes,” Zoe says. “They cleaned the whole house first thing this morning, including Jimmy’s room. I didn’t want you to come home to…” She stops. “I didn’t want you to be uncomfortable in your own home.”
Paris impulsively reaches forward to give the other woman a hug. How could she have so misjudged this person? After all, she knows exactly how it feels to have people assume you’re something you’re not. For Paris, the only way to get away from it was to become someone new. That was not an option now.
Unlike nineteen years ago, she can’t just set a fire and run.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
It was never her plan to become Paris. It’s just the way it worked out.
The night she faked her death started off like any other, only she was actually looking forward to going to work. The Golden Cherry had been advertising their New Year’s Eve party for weeks, and the fifty-dollar cover charge included a free drink and a champagne toast at midnight. It was sure to be a big money night for all the girls.
The first time Joey ever danced at the Cherry, she nearly threw up. She had spent her entire life up until then doing everything she could to be clothed and covered from the gazes of strange men, and suddenly, there she was, working the main floor in a dress so skimpy, she might as well have been naked. Luckily, she was a quick learner. Eventually, it all became normal—enjoyable, even. In the club, she was in total control. Nobody was allowed to touch her without her consent, and it was surprisingly empowering.
The trick, she discovered, was to not be Joey. The trick was to be Ruby.
A year later, she’d become one of the club’s highest earners. Though she expected her time as an exotic dancer to be short, she found she was in no hurry to move on. The money was too addicting.
There was already a lineup outside the Cherry when Joey stepped off the bus for her shift. A man in a sequined top hat with 1999 emblazoned across it spotted her and hollered, “Happy fucking New Year!” She ignored him and headed straight for Junior’s.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite Filipino fantasy,” Fitzroy said with a grin when the bells above the door chimed her entrance. “They got you working New Year’s Eve, Joey?”
“Working till last call, and I won’t make it on an empty stomach.” She knew the menu by heart and ordered, handing Fitzroy a ten. He gave her back four loonies, and she dropped one in the tip jar. Before she started dancing, it wouldn’t have occurred to her to tip for a takeout order. Now that her income relied solely on the generosity of customers, she tipped everybody.
All three tables in the tiny restaurant were full, so she went back outside to wait for her food. The lineup outside the Cherry had grown longer, and she saw that Chaz was working the door. Even from this distance, he looked huge. For his size—six five, with biceps like wrecking balls—Chaz was surprisingly tender in bed. It helped that he loved her. She knew this because he’d said it once, but when she didn’t say it back, he never said it again. They were only sleeping together casually, of course; he wasn’t her boyfriend, though she knew he wanted to be.
Chaz was taking his time checking the IDs of a large group of nervous-looking young men, peering at each driver’s license with a mini flashlight. There was almost always someone under nineteen with a fake ID, but they all passed. The next group in line stepped forward, and she caught a glimpse of someone familiar. Her heart skipped a beat. Tall, same twists, same goatee. But then he turned, and she got a better look at his face. It wasn’t Drew.