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She smiles and weaves her way towards our table, stopping to fill the coffee mugs of some of the regulars on her way. Well, that told me nothing. She’s smiling because we’re in on a secret together or because she can’t wait to blow the lid off the thing and watch the fireworks.
The clang of a plate is followed by an ‘Order up’ as one of the cooks deposits a platter on the ledge between the kitchen and the cash register. The wafting scent of hamburgers makes my mouth water.
Why am I worried about Layla? She’s been best friends with Harbor since elementary school. She’s not going to betray her trust.
“What’ll you boys have?” Layla’s eyes dance as she cocks her hip, juggles the coffee while withdrawing her order pad.
“I’ll take a loaded burger with bacon and cheese.” Connor lays the menu on the table.
“Good choice.” She marks on the sheet, but from my vantage point, it’s illegible–more like a code than actual handwriting.
I clear my throat. “I’ll take the same.” The second I caught a whiff of bacon-drenched hamburger, I switched my choice from a turkey club to the burger.
“Gotcha.” She pulls off the order sheet with a sassy expression on her face. “Got your hose out lately?”
What the fuck? I’m going to–
She rolls her eyes. “You know what I mean. Has the fire department been called out today? Kam is working, so I wanted to know how tired he’d be tonight.”
Bullshit. My teeth grind together. If Connor wasn’t here, I’d call her bluff. “I don’t know. Today is my day off.”
“I see. Any big plans?”
“No.”
“Too bad.” She winks and spins on her heel.
Connor glares with his arms crossed over his chest. “What’s up with you and Susie Sunshine? Isn’t she dating that ‘Kam’ guy?” He makes quotation marks as he says, Kam.
“She is. She’s taken to teasing me because I’m friends with Kameron.”
“Hmph.” After a moment, his shoulders relax, and the hostility disappears. “What’re you doing tonight?”
“I…. I’m not sure.” My palms dampen as coming up with a valid excuse for blowing him off escapes me.
“We could….” His phone buzzes, drawing his attention to the black screen. After swiping the screen, his eyes widen. The longer he studies his phone, the redder his face becomes. “I can’t believe this shit.”
“What shit?” I glance around to make sure no one is close enough to hear our conversation.
“Harbor claimed her and this asshole boss of hers aren’t screwing around, but she’s been lying. When I get ahold of her, I’m giving her a piece of my mind. The guy is way too old for her, making it look like she’s using him for money. It’s embarrassing. Mom and Dad are going to freak.”
My jaw flexes as the muscles in my neck and shoulders tighten into knots. “Let me see.”
“Fine. Here.” He shoves the offending object at me as if he can’t look at it for another second.
Blood rushes to my ears as I read the message Ledger sent to Connor.
Ledger: Check this out. Read the article. Not only is she messing with a guy 30 years older than her, but she’s wearing a skirt that’s too fucking short.
The link goes to a blog page dedicated to celebrity sightings, with four images of Harbor and her boss spread out throughout the article. The writer alleges that they’re having an affair, which is why he put her up in a luxury condo near his building. It goes on about how Henry Burke is a reclusive billionaire who is rarely sighted outside of grand dinners and charity events. Then, there’s a small blurb about Harbor, but the author has limited information to go on for her.
The first photo is of this Burke guy clutching her shoulder inside his limo. Their eyes are homed in on each other with slight smiles on their faces. She’s gorgeous, and her boss, for an older man, is good-looking with graying temples.
The next is a spliced photo of the two of them talking on cell phones with the implication they’re talking to each other and a quote of, ‘I hate that we can’t talk out in the open.’ The next picture is of them standing together and greeting a group of board members for the local hospital.
And the last image is of her coming out of her apartment complex, trying to keep up with a larger man who appears to be a chauffeur. My attention returns to the photo in the limo. The look between them lacks passion. There are no smoldering looks between them. And I know Harbor’s ‘I want to climb you like a tree’ expression. There’s only a friendly, concerned expression that implies their respect for each other. And I know who she was talking to when she said, ‘I hate that we can’t talk out in the open.’
I inhale and push back the fear that she’s playing both of us. “I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation.”
