"Price of my information?" Eric repeated the words as if they were a foreign language he was trying to translate. He leaned back, the leather of the parlor booth creaking under his weight. He gave a sharp, nervous laugh, his eyes darting to the waitress—who was still hovering near the kitchen—before returning to Jayla.
"Jay, what are you talking about? You know how busy I am at work. I'm a man on the rise. It's no surprise to hear that I'm a 'busy man' in the office. People talk when they're jealous of success."
Jayla's smile didn't falter. It remained fixed, a perfect, crimson crescent of red lipstick that felt more like a scar. "I know, right? I shouldn't be surprised at all. Rumors about my man being a 'busy man'... I should have expected it."
