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“Are we talking business or pussy?”
So she’s pussy? “Or kids.” I smile, earning myself another snarl.
“How the fuck would I know where she is?”
“Because she works here.”
“Don’t I fucking know it,” he mutters.
I’ve known Brad since I was ten. He’s the first to crack a joke. The first to alleviate the tension. The most easygoing deadly man I’ve ever known and ever likely to know. But since his brush with death—or, more to the point, the arrival of Pearl—he’s changed. I can’t say I appreciate it. I know exactly what’s wrong with him. He wants to fuck a female he shouldn’t want to fuck, because the female is barely a woman, and Brad isn’t getting any younger. What I can’t figure out is if his beef is purely age related, or simply because a member of the opposite sex has gotten under his skin, and women never get under Brad Black’s skin, least of all one nearly half his age.
“I can’t believe you brought the baby to Hiatus,” he grumbles.
“Her name’s Maggie. You want to hold her? You’ve not held her yet.” Hardly even looked at her. “Here.” I start unfastening the straps on the carrier, and Brad backs up, alarmed.
“No, thanks.”
I falter in my movements. He looks truly terrified. “What the hell is going on?” I ask, leaving Maggie exactly where she is, safe against my chest. This reaction, the mood, all just feels over the top for a simple case of having the hots for someone you shouldn’t have the hots for. Do I need to take him for a drink? I know I’ve been absent recently. Distracted. Really fucking tired. But . . . I look down at my chest. She’s awake. Awake and quiet. It’s a fucking miracle.
“I’m fine,” Brad grunts. “The interviews are over.” An impatient hand gets thrown up in the air. “You were all shit.”
I look across the bar, noticing for the first time a line of young women sitting on the edge of the stage. All eyes on me. Or my chest, and not for the same reasons I’m used to. It’s swoon central, apparently, as they all move in. I wrap my arms around Maggie and get us the fuck out of there. “Where’s Otto?” I ask Brad over my shoulder.
“Upstairs with James.”
James is here? “He’s not with Beau?”
“Beau’s with Rose at the salon,” he calls.
I stop at the entrance of the office, looking back at him. “You coming?”
He holds up a hand, his phone going to his ear. I leave him, entering the office, and Nolan swings around, startled. Could be me, but he looks guilty as he puts something in his pocket. “All right?” I ask, suspicious.
The smile he slaps on his face is epic. Fake. Nervous as shit. “Good, boss.”
I scowl at him, assessing his disposition. I don’t like it, but Brad walks in behind me before I can pin the fucker down and grill him.
“Leon’s gonna pick up some more stock later,” Nolan says.
“Got it.” Brad punches in the code at the door that leads up to the secret office and looks back at me impatiently, like hurry the hell up. “May as well give Maggie the full tour.”
I rip my wary eyes off Nolan. “Want to see where we hide some of the cash, Maggie?” I ask. “Just don’t tell your mummy.”
“Oh, for God’s sake.” Brad shakes his head in despair. Couldn’t give a fuck. She’s still quiet. “I think I’ve nailed this babysitting business.”
“It’s not babysitting when it’s your daughter, you jerk.”
Daughter. Still weird. I climb the stairs and enter with Brad, finding James with his feet kicked up on the desk, looking bored out of his mind, and Otto hunched over a laptop. I’m staggered every time I see Otto like this. What the fuck does he do on that fucking laptop all the fucking time?
“Your phone’s been bugged,” he says, so casual, without even looking up. Brad and I stop halfway across the office and look at each other, just waiting, and James drops his feet, sitting up in his chair. Whose phone? Otto eventually turns his eyes onto me. “So I’ve cut the line.”
“What?” I ask, slightly squeaky. “What the hell do you mean, bugged?”
“I mean what I say, and I said your phone was bugged.”
“Who the fuck would want to bug me?” All I’ve done recently is try to sleep—try being the operative word. The only thing they’ll have heard is Maggie crying in the background while I cried down the line to Doc, begging him for some miracle cure for my nocturnal baby. “And how? I’ve hardly left the house for weeks.”
Otto snaps the lid of his laptop shut. “I’m looking into it.”
