Vance was already irritated by the time he pulled up outside the boutique.
He sat behind the wheel of his sleek black car, one hand draped lazily over the steering wheel while his fingers tapped an impatient rhythm. The boutique's glass front reflected the late afternoon sun, the polished surface giving nothing away about what had happened inside. He hated waiting. Hated uncertainty even more.
His gaze lifted when the door finally opened.
Sugar stepped out first.
She looked exactly as she always did, effortlessly composed, her heels clicking softly against the pavement and her sunglasses perched on her nose like a shield. But Vance knew her too well. The slight tension in her shoulders, the way her jaw was set just a fraction too tight, told him everything.
She slid into the passenger seat without a word, shutting the door behind her.
"Well?" he asked, pulling away from the curb smoothly. "How did it go?"
