Tex Miller Is Dead by Kelly Elizabeth Huston

Author:Kelly Elizabeth Huston [Kelly Elizabeth Huston]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Watermount Publishing
Published: 2023-04-18T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter twenty-one

The Meatpacking District, on the far west side of Manhattan, has been a neighborhood of change since the mid-nineteenth century. Named for the industry that saw its rise during the Industrial Revolution and then the more salacious characteristics of the darker days of the 1980s, today it is an example of gentrification—full of art galleries, nightclubs, and the High Line Park. Real estate has skyrocketed with the development of trendy boutiques and large-scale residences in century-old slaughterhouses of brick and glass.

Of course, all this revitalization came with headaches, too, making it the quintessential spot for The Luna Network to put its revival on display and for me to have to circumnavigate some media scrutiny. But damn, if I wasn’t going to look good doing it.

When I stepped into the lobby from the hotel elevator, my head snapped at an exaggerated cat-call whistle. On a bench, Laney appeared to be immersed in her phone, her silvery-blonde hair even edgier than usual. I stood directly in front of her, forcing her to look straight up to meet my gaze. She didn’t.

“What? No call, no text, no ‘I’m on the ground, see you soon’?”

“You’re on my shit list, Laney Li, and you know why, so I wasn’t much for chit-chat.”

She tilted to give me a wicked leer. “Would it help if I said the way you look tonight would make a good dog wanna break its leash?”

I couldn’t help but soften. “Yes.” I kissed her cheek as she got to her feet.

“Don’t you need a bag?” She noticed my empty hands.

“I’ve got lip gloss, ID, a credit card, room key, and two twenty-dollar bills. I’m a simple girl with simple needs—and pockets, my friend.” The black halter jumpsuit housed everything I needed, and I carried a matching shrug for wearing to and from the glitzy soiree, to cover the ample skin displayed in the back. My plan for the evening was to see, be seen, and get out. The less time Andrew had to take part in the charade, the better, and Laney was about to hear all about it.

“I didn’t tell you because of the whole ‘shoot the messenger syndrome,’” Laney admitted.

“Sounds like you’re the architect, not the messenger.” I had saved some snark for Laney.

“Tomato, tomahto.”

Delight for the fancy night out mixed with the anxiety of what it all meant, and I surrendered to whatever Laney’s next scheme might bring. We played catch-up while waiting for our ride—two besties, getting silly before a Saturday girls’ night out. If anyone proved that age was just a number, my gal pal topped the list, and I couldn’t appreciate our time together more.

When Dante arrived, I introduced him to Laney and promised her that conversation, within reason, was safe in his presence. She was wary, but then she always was. She kept talk to a minimum.

“You know Andrew’s date?” I dug for information.

“I met her.”

“Anything I should know?”

“Don’t let her appearance throw you, but there is a method to the madness.”

“What’s that mean?

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