Kieran was in a state of panic. It was Monday morning, and he was due at the shop in less than an hour. Hassan had negotiated some time off, and he’d taken Omar down the coast for a couple of days so they could spend time together. Kieran wasn’t doing anything to ruin that. Sarah was on nights, so their paths wouldn’t cross until the weekend, and Milo and Liam were busy with their own lives. Liam didn’t even live in London anymore, and Milo was in a relationship with the deputy prime minister. He couldn’t involve him in this. He had nobody to talk to.
There was Derek, but he’d probably rush in hot-headed and beat the crap out of Carl, who worked for Grant Kincaid. It wasn’t difficult to guess how that would turn out. If Kieran didn’t go into the shop, Grant would want to know why, and he wasn’t going to take Kieran’s side when it was clear he’d known Carl for years and the man was part of his inner circle. If he thought Kieran might go to the police, then he knew how that would end for him as well. He was fucked.
Carl had been different when Kieran had met him on Saturday. He was dressed in a suit, which looked annoyingly good on him, and he’d been nothing but charming. He’d notgiven any indication they knew each other, which made Kieran feel even more anxious. Perhaps Grant would be there today, and that would make things easier. Or Carl might not even be there. Kieran was the manager now. Technically, his boss was Grant, as he was the owner. He’d said to regard Carl as a mentor, who’d be more than happy to show Kieran “everything he knew.” Kieran wasn’t sure if Grant had meant for that statement to sound so terrifying.
He checked himself in the mirror again. He was wearing a white polo with the collar open, so all his ink popped. His hair looked good. Why he felt the need to look good was a mystery. He should make himself look undesirable, but feeling sexy boosted his confidence.
The journey was uneventful. The Tube had no delays, and his connection at Kings Cross was smooth, which for a Monday morning was a miracle. It was as if the gods wanted him to go to work. Given he was going to be twenty minutes early, he stopped for a coffee and sat inside, watching the clock tick down. He doom-scrolled on his phone, looking at hot guys with no shirts who clearly had prosthetic dicks shoved down their tight shorts as they gay-baited for people to subscribe to theiruncutcontent. Kieran had fallen for it once and been pissed that the D was on PPV. Ugh. You subscribe to a gay guy, and he’s flat on his back being drilled by ten dicks, and that’s just your welcome video. At least the gays knew how to get loyalty from their audience.
Unable to put it off any longer, he finished his coffee and walked across the road. The city was busy for a Monday, but since most companies had gone to three days in the office, many started the week by getting one of them out of the way. The temperature was already in the mid-twenties, with the sun glaring off the cheese-grater building, which dominated the view from where he stood.
He opened the shop door and almost gasped with reliefwhen he saw Grant was there, with Carl. He’d been worried he’d be alone with Carl before the others arrived.
“There he is. The boss man,” said Grant, with a big smile.
Kieran couldn’t help smiling. He focused his attention on Grant, not looking at Carl, who was all suited and booted again.
“Have you had breakfast yet?” asked Grant.
“Does coffee count?”
“It does not,” he said with a frown. “Let’s grab something. Carl will wait here for the others to arrive. You two can chat later.”
Before he could say anything, Grant put an arm around his shoulder and was steering him back out of the shop. Had Carl said something to Grant? Were they genuinely going for breakfast, or was Kieran going to be bundled into a blacked-out vehicle? He’d told no one about Carl, so nobody would know the reason if he just disappeared.
“Are you okay, Kieran?”
“What? Oh . . . sorry . . . yeah, just tired.” Always a safe thing to say.
“Well, let’s get something inside you. That should put a smile back on your handsome face.”
He looked at Grant, who looked at him deadpan, but his eyes sparkled with teasing, making Kieran laugh.
“That’s better. Have you been to Fortnum and Mason in the Royal Exchange?”
“Bit out of my price range.”
“Not anymore it isn’t, bossman, but breakfast is on me.”
That was another thing that had shocked Kieran. His salary had been doubled to eighty grand, which he still couldn’t get his head around. He was earning more than Hassan now. How did the shop make enough to pay him that? Grant had said he’d be less reliant on tips as he’d need to run the shop and would see fewer clients. He had his regulars, whom he would keep, but he wouldn’t be taking onanyone new. If being the manager meant he wouldn’t be tattooing as much anymore, then it probably wasn’t for him. At least this gave him the chance to test-drive the job before he committed to owning his own place.
They arrived at the Royal Exchange, and it reminded Kieran of what he loved about working in the city: the mix of historical and modern working harmoniously together. The architecture of the building was still intact, yet modern shops were dotted around it. Their breakfast location was in the middle of the atrium and didn’t look out of place. Grant didn’t even have to say anything and they were taken to a table.
Kieran’s stomach was churning with nerves, and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to eat anything, but the last thing he wanted to be was rude.
“Have you had eggs Benedict before, Kieran?”
He shook his head.
“Do you like poached eggs?”
“Yeah.”
“Bacon?”
“Of course.”
“Toasted English muffins?”
