Page 88 of Defy

This place was where Regina wanted me to meet her for her super secret photoshoot.

Okay.

She was a creative genius, so there wasn’t any point in questioning her. And since I had signed a three-year contract as the face of her new cosmetic and swimwear line, I guessed it was my job to show up where she told me.

Even if this place was a bit sketchy. And where the hell were the rest of the people?

I’d expect at least two dozen cars parked around the area instead of only a handful.

A chill slid down my spine, and I fingered the phone in my hoodie pocket.

Maybe a quick call to Damon was in order. Then he’d know my location, and this sick feeling in my gut would ease.

I shook the thought away. What was wrong with me?

When had I become so soft?

If I made it through some of the unsavory photoshoot locations from my early years in the industry, I could suck it up and take a few pictures in this part of town.

Then again, I never arrived at those locations and felt I was the only one in the area.

I had to get it together.

All of this Keith murder shit was getting to me.

Would Suzette forgive me if I told Damon about the shelter and my work there? The stress of keeping the information from him didn’t seem worth it.

I jumped at the sound of a car’s engine backfiring, and every bit of my attention sharpened to my surroundings.

Squaring my shoulders, I followed the instructions on the paperwork couriered earlier in the morning.

I punched in the security code, opened the metal door, made my way to a second-floor landing, and found a back room. Inside sat six long padded tables with fabrics and patterns arranged across them in various stages of clothing formation.

This couldn’t be Regina’s studio.

As far as I knew, she owned a giant block in Manhattan where she created and stored all her designs and inventory. Plus, this place didn’t have anywhere near the security level I’d expect from an over-the-top tech lover like Regina.

I trailed a hand over a few pieces of the fabric, tilting my head to the side to better look at one of the sketches on the table.

No, this could be right.

I remembered seeing this dress in Keith’s apartment the night I went in with Lizzy.

Was this his secret studio?

A prickle of fear slid down my back. Had someone lured me here as payback for killing Keith?

I looked around, seeing the simplicity of the area, and pushed away the thought of this studio belonging to Keith.

That prick would never come to this part of town to work. Keith liked the pomp and circumstance of having his creative space where people could ooh and ahh over him.

Then, I noticed the designs on a board resting on a back table. They were detailed layouts and patterns for fabrics. Next to it were multiple swatches in primary colors with tags labeled as cotton, silk, polyester, wool, and linen.

Adjacent to the board was a large binder labeled Project HRK.

Opening the folder, I found three sections divided into sections with the names Keith, Henrietta, and Rico. It was filled with calendars and timelines of tasks, centering around the development and execution of two textile lines, one for the clothing industry and the other for home fashions.

“No fucking way.” I couldn’t help but gape when I spotted Carla’s name written in every spot where it said assistant duties.

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