Lenny hefted the long strap of her purse over her head. “Is that so.” She didn’t sound surprised, but she had been duckinghis daytime visits for weeks now, so maybe she’d been expecting a stunt like this. “In that case, you can walk me home.”
“I could give you a ride.” He gestured to his bike.
She snorted. “Hell, no. The last thing this city needs is more pollution from your damn noisy motorcycle. Come on.”
He fell into step beside her, their steps punctuated by the soft slapping of Lenny’s flip-flops against the sidewalk as they headed out of the store’s plaza and onto Sixth. This part of town was well-lit at this time of the evening, because many of the local businesses didn’t close until after dark. But not all of the streets were so bright. While Lenny was spunky, she didn’t cut the most imposing figure.
“Do you live nearby?” he asked, trying for a nonchalance he didn’t think he pulled off.
She shrugged. “Close enough. A twenty minute walk or so.”
“And you walk home by yourself?”
Her posture straightened, and though she wasn’t looking at him, she side-eyed him. “I do.”
“Are you sure that’s safe?”
“Well, I haven’t been mugged yet,” she sassed. “Besides, what are they gonna take? The purse with no money in it?” They headed toward Colorado Ave, which meant Lenny probably lived on the other side of the Santa Monica Freeway.
“You wouldn’t have to worry about money if you sold the store.” He slid his hands into his pockets. “You could move closer to downtown and to the beach.” He didn’t know Lenny well, but she screamed beach bum. Many of the people who lived in Santa Monica did.
“I like where I live. I’ve got a place on the ground floor so I can let my dog out easy.” Ah, the dog. Des had forgotten about him. Occasionally, he’d come into the store to find a hulking gray monster flopped behind the counter, snoring quietly. “What’s it to you, anyway?”
“The client I’m working with is interested in purchasing the plaza as a whole. The other shop owners have all agreed to sell. You’re the only holdout.”
“They have, huh? So that old coot Rodger caved?”
“Is there a reason why you don’t want to sell?”
In previous deals, he’d come across store owners who’d had shop fronts in their family for generations and were reluctant to sell for that reason. He didn’t bother going after them, knowing how strong family ties rarely wavered even in the face of millions of dollars. But Lenny had owned Sex on the Beach for only five years, and she’d purchased it by herself. She didn’t have that deeply ingrained connection to it, so try as he might, he’d never been able to comprehend her hesitation.
“Well, gee, that store is just my livelihood,” she drolled.
He stepped aside as a woman on roller skates flew past them, heading away from the conspicuous fifties diner at the corner of the block.
“The sale would give you more than enough to live off for a long while. And let’s face it, you’re no spring chicken.”
Lenny wound up and socked him in the shoulder.
The sting radiated out from the muscle. He flinched, rubbing it as he chuckled. “I’m just saying.”
“It’s not just me.” She sighed, turning her gaze across the road as a raccoon scuttled into an alley. “Other people work there. It might just be a paycheck, but a paycheck is important to most people.”
There was a vague accusation in her tone, as though she were implying he didn’t know the value of a paycheck, but her heart wasn’t exactly in the insult.
“You’re worried about Cami,” he surmised.
“She works at the store, yeah. But she lives there, too.”
He nodded.
Lenny wasn’t finished. “I don’t charge her much. I could rent that little apartment for three times what I’m getting for it.”
“Then why don’t you?”
“She came to California with nothing but what she could haul onto the bus with her. She didn’t have much money and no way to earn any, nor a place to stay. Now she’s in school. She’s working to make a life for herself.”
“Cami can handle herself.” His tone was confident, but a niggling image in the back of his head appeared; Cami, eyes wide and vulnerable, asking why he’d taken her job from her.
