Page 63 of The Forbidden Note

Gingerly, I sink into a chair.

This is my first time in a recording studio. The office is well-decorated with a thick rug, frames of Jarod Cross’s best-selling albums, Billboard Charts topping awards, and a host of other trophies.

“Hand me the folder,” Jarod says, a hint of authority in his tone.

My fingers, instinctively, tighten on the document.

After I asked for his help, Jarod wanted to get started right away. He offered to look over the materials I’d gathered and promised to send it to his private investigator friend.

Everything fell into place so perfectly.

And yet, there’s something deep inside that tells me not to release these files into his hands.

“Grace?” Jarod arches a brow.

My throat bobs as I swallow. “We really don’t have to do this now.” Jarod turns those dark eyes on me, clearly seeing through my B.S. “I mean… you said you had a sound check.” I glance at the time on my watch. “I didn’t mean for you to set your schedule aside.”

He aims a tight smile at me, but there’s something sharp about it. Calculative. It’s like a severe and disapproving frown is hiding right behind those perfect white teeth.

“You’re the one who asked for help, Grace. Isn’t that because you have nowhere else to turn?”

He’s right. Every avenue I’ve taken has led to a dead end. The security guards from six years ago have all been fired, their information wiped from the Redwood Prep files. The teachers who were working at Redwood six years ago clam up when I try to bring up Sloane’s murder.

It’s like chasing smoke.

Every time I think I’m close to the truth, it disappears without a trace.

As a last resort, I reached out to Jinx. The blackmailer wasn’t around when Sloane and I attended Redwood, but I figured she had access to a network of information. Maybe there wassomethingthat could help me.

Unfortunately, Jinx isn’t just a blackmailer.

She’s a trader of secrets.

For access to her information, I need to give up some of my own. But confessing my connection to Zane could ruin my career and any chances of working undercover at Redwood.

Jarod Cross is my last shot.

The silence stretches as the rockstar waits. The longer I hold out, the more he looks at me like I’m a misbehaving child who took the cookie without asking. Thinking fast, I slip my thumb in the crook of the folder and offer it to him. At the last second, I drop my thumb and the folder splatters to the ground.

“Oh no.” I gasp.

Jarod rises staunchly.

“I got it,” I say, holding a hand out to him and kneeling next to the mess.

He remains standing for a long beat, eyes narrowing. Slowly, hesitantly, he sits back down.

Hunkering close to the desk, I sweep the files up while laughing. “I’m so clumsy. Every day, I spill books just walking down the hallway. It’s ridiculous.”

Quickly, I tuck my personal notes into my bra.

“Here,” I say, shoving the messy folder over the table.

Jarod Cross turns his dark eyes over to mine and assesses me. It’s an awful feeling to be under that pointed stare, and I shiver.

“Can I use the bathroom?” I ask.

One corner of his lips etches up. It’s a smile that promises he’s running out of patience with me. “Sure.”

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