“Yes.” I repeated, growing increasingly angry. This whole situation was surreal. With effort, I evened out my voice and unclenched my fists to diffuse some of the rage bubbling to the surface. But I couldn’t sink to his level. I had to outthink him. There was no way in hell I would sign off that work, but I could buy us some time.
“What about her cut from stripping?” he asked.
“I have a research grant. Money for costs. Whatever she normally makes will be covered.”
At this, Suzie’s jaw fell open. Occum slowly grinned. He slid the knife back into the leather holster. He was going for it. He was actually going for it.
Shit, he was going for it.
The realities of what that entailed would have to be analyzed later. I wouldn’t be able to relax until Occum was out of this room.
“Looks like you did your job after all.” He grinned at Suzie.
Suzie didn’t speak, but her attention was carefully split between me and Occum. He needed to leave. Now. I wanted to break that man’s face, but her life was at risk.
He clapped his hands together loudly. “Okay, well I’ll let you two lovebirds work out the details later, on your own time. Short Fuse, get back out there and finish your shift.”
Occum slammed his way back out of the room. Suzie and I exchanged a look. “I can explain.”
“We need to talk,” she said at the same time.
“I know, it’s not what—”
“Not. Now. Give me your phone.” Her hands shook as she reached for my phone and tapped at it for a moment. “Meet me at this place around nine tomorrow morning. I put in my number too.”
She shoved the phone roughly back into my hands. We stayed like that for a fraction of a second, my hands around hers, eyes locked. Her mouth opened as though to speak but she snapped it closed again and left without another glance at me.
I slumped back onto the couch. “What the hell have I done?”
Chapter 8
Clifford
Suzie was late for our meeting. At half past nine, my self-indulgent annoyance started to melt into worry. What if Occum had done something after I left last night? He had agreed to the arrangement pretty easily all in all. Money talks I suppose, and he was used to trading women like commodities. But what if she wasn’t okay? Or worse yet, what if she decided against being used as a pawn in this weird struggle between her boss and me?
The diner was nice, at least. It was decently busy early on a Sunday morning. A few tables were occupied and a few singles sat at the counter. One waitress buzzed around the diner nonstop as she called out orders to a fry cook in the back. The coffee was superb and the drive to Green Valley from Knoxville was straight forward and quick. So I had been in a neutral mood until her tardiness pushed me decidedly toward cranky. Lack of consideration of other people’s time was disrespectful. And being angry at her was easier than reflecting on my own actions, a little voice deep inside pointed out. I ignored that voice.
I took out my wallet to throw down money for the coffee when Suzie finally strolled in. She wore cut off jean shorts and a tank top despite the fall weather. Her cowboy boots were seasonally appropriate, at least. I didn’t miss how all sets of eyes watched her saunter across the restaurant toward my table, some with interest, but most with visible disdain or disgust.
“Hiya, Ford.” She came in on a cloud of perfume and noise. She slumped into the booth across from me slapping her bag down. “Colder than a witch’s titty out there.” She shuddered dramatically. “Why the frown?”
I had been frowning at the people staring at her and whispering. I was about to tell them to mind their own business.
“You’re late,” I hadn’t meant that to be the first thing I said but her laissez-faire attitude riled me up. And why did she have to say my name like that? Like it was a sigh of relief. After last night. After everything, she strolled in like nothing had happened.
“Yeah. My bad. I ended up getting home after three this morning. My dogs are still barking.” She looked around and waved down the server. “Daisy’s Nut House has the best coffee and doughnuts in all of Tennessee and anybody that says otherwise gets socked in the face. Hey Beverly.”
“Hey, Suzie.” Beverly swung back around the table. “Shouldn’t you be at church?”
Suzie looked up at me and then to Beverly. She popped her gum loudly. “Went last night.” She winked. “I’ll have a coffee and a cinnamon crunch doughnut. And a chocolate. Oh heck, and a frosted.” She glanced up from the laminated menu to tell me, “I burn a lot of calories dancing.”
Beverly tutted before asking me, “Want anything to eat, sugar?”
“No, thank you.” I’d already eaten. Hours ago.
Beverly sniffed looking at Suzie with haughty attitude before going back to the doughnuts. Suzie seemed unaware of the other woman’s judgment. She toyed with the menu and stacked sugar packets and looked everywhere but at me. We sat in awkward silence. How does one gracefully proposition a stripper into being the subject of a social experiment this early on a Sunday morning?
“Y’all enjoy,” Beverly set down the food and coffee.
