Page 66 of Triggered By Love
“Why? What does he get out of it?”
“Other than being popular? They do favors for him. He scored tickets toThe Schitts of Fifth Avenue.”
“No shit! How’d he do that?” Jason made a long whistle of amazement, the better to spur Avery into revealing more.
“Probably hooked the director up with either a drug dealer or a donor. He’ll take payment in tickets, invitations, gifts, or introductions.”
“Cash, too?”
“Eh, of course, cash, but he’s got plenty of it. He’s more into influence.”
“And being a power broker.”
“Nah, you don’t get Richie. He’s too lazy to worry about power. His dad handles that part of it. He’s just there to loaf and live his privileged life. He asked me to go to the Broadway show with him as arm candy, but I told him he’s no longer my type.”
“Why not? I bet he could make you designer of the year and get you in all the best shows. Milan, London, Paris.”
The temperature dropped to below zero, freezing.
Avery clammed up. Her arms crossed over her bouncy chest, and she stared straight ahead.
Her building was coming up, and once he arrived, they’d be met by her brother. He didn’t have much time to get the goods on Richie.
Time to be an asshole again.
“If Richie didn’t help you break into fashion design, who did? Who hooked you up with Alida Adams? How’d she get you a debut at Manhattan Fashion Week? Come on, Ave, it’s obvious. You slept with Richie and—”
Slap.
Her open palm left a sting on his face, but he resisted putting his hand on it.
“Assaulting a police officer. You’re such a criminal.”
“You’re an asshole.” She was so angry she could barely speak. “You smear my talent. You act like I’m a whore. You’re a sexist pig.”
“Someone’s trying to kill you. I’ll be as disgusting as I have to. If Richie’s no threat, who is? Larry Leach? Your professor, Orson Leach? Or is there a man in your life you’re keeping on the downlow?” He double-parked in front of her building. “And don’t look at me all shocked and offended. I want to know what everyone has on you and why they want to scare you from doing your shows, or worse, eliminate you. Is it competition? Payback to your family? Jealousy? Blackmail? Someone killed Brando Bonet, and yes, I’m going to use his name in vain. Aren’t you interested in putting this person away? Or are you too scared?”
“I’m not scared,” she yelled. Two spots of red blotched her cheeks, and she huffed with anger.
“Yes, you are.” He forced his voice to slither like a snake’s hiss. “You’re afraid I’ll find something you don’t like. What are you covering up?”
“Let it go.” Avery lowered her sunglasses to glare at him. “Just leave it alone. No one’s going to kill me. It’s guys like you who should watch your back.”
“I wonder why you would threaten me.” He ripped the glasses from her hand and jutted his jaw at her. “Am I getting too close to you?”
“I hate you.” Her eyes narrowed into slits.
“Thank you.” He tilted his head as if he’d kiss her.
Her eyes closed, and her lips pursed, likely by reflex.
He replaced her sunglasses and turned away from her, sparing her the embarrassment of the missed kiss.
If he had to make her hate him to get the answers he needed, so be it.
He opened the door and spotted Avery’s twin brother, Damon, coming out of the building. The man had the springy gait of a prizefighter, and he oozed with anger and agitation.
Stepping from the car, he extended his hand. “Detective Jason Burnett. I have a few questions for you.”
