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“Mr. Santiago,” Samantha hisses. “Are you—”
“Please,” I say warmly. “Call me Miguel.”
She flushes a deeper shade of red.
“Are you making suggestive comments to me?” she hisses.
“Of course not. You were the one that ordered the adult version.”
And then she does something wholly unexpected. She stares at me, her eyes all wide and surprised, then she snorts like a little piglet. Her snort apparently amuses her, because the next thing I know, she’s giggling, which gets Toni’s attention. She smiles, and I realize with a momentary pang it’s the first time I’ve seen the kid smile. Then they’re both giggling their heads off, and I’m not even sure why.
“Alright, girls,” I say, trying to get a handle on the situation. “Let’s pick up where we left off.” The sooner they finish this interview, the sooner I can get Toni whisked off to another caretaker, then make my move on Samantha.
Toni nods, sobering, and continues her story. “The police say that my mom left,” she says, and I don’t miss the way her lip wobbles a bit when she says this, or the way Samantha’s eyes grow pained. “But she didn’t. I know she was taken.”
Shit.
Samantha looks at me, all traces of humor gone. I give a small shrug. I have no clue where this is going.
“What makes you say that?” Samantha asks Toni, as our waiter brings over a tray of drinks and two pasta dishes—one child’s size and one “adult version.”
“Because,” Toni says, placing her palms on the table while she eyes Samantha, “my mom promised me she would never leave me. It was our vow to each other. I ran away from home when I was little, and we made a promise to each other we wouldn’t run away again. Either of us. Ever.”
Samantha looks from me to Toni, then back again. I don’t say anything.
Why did she run away from home when she was younger? Was it a petty, childish complaint like her mom bought her the wrong breakfast cereal, or something more serious?
Why is she concerned about her mom but hasn’t said a damn word about my brother? Does she even know who he is? I doubt it.
I wish she had more than this. I hope she does, but she’s a kid.
A mother’s promise that she’ll never leave isn’t something I’d bet on, as much as I wish I could.
Samantha reaches out and takes Toni’s hand. “Alright, Toni. I’ll investigate this. I’ll do my best. I can’t promise any results, but I promise I’ll give you everything I’ve got.”
Damn.
My attention’s distracted by another text from Raul.
Raul: Smoothie’s arrived and melting and was delivered by a seriously fucking knock-out.
Me: Don’t drink it.
Raul: There’s actually two. One for you, one for me.
Me: Fine.
Samantha, who’s sitting across the table, brings my attention back to her with the little orgasmic moans she makes as she bites into her macaroni and cheese.
Jesus.
My blood heats, and I shift on my seat as I imagine exactly what I could do to make her moan like that all night long.
“You’re doing a good job with your lunch,” Sam says to Toni, as Toni takes another bite of pasta.
“You’re doing a good job with yours, too,” I say quietly to Samantha, my words casual but my tone anything but.
Her jaw drops open as if she can’t believe I’m hitting on her. Again, I wonder if the girl’s a virgin. Wouldn’t that just be the icing on the non-GMO cookie?
She takes another bite of pasta and licks the spoon, the tip of her tongue doing wicked little things to the cheesy béchamel sauce. I swallow hard. Blink.
“It’s delicious,” she says, as my phone buzzes.
Raul: You’ve got a meeting in fifteen minutes. Where’s the girl?
Me: Sitting right next to me.
Raul: Bring her with you.
Me: Why?
Raul: The interview’s about her.
Wait, what? I don’t know much about kids, but I have vague memories of being one, and none of them are pleasant.
Me: She’s not ready for that.
Raul: Alright, fine. We can put them off, but you have to at least do your portion. Where are you?
Me: In the restaurant.
Raul: Alright, sounds good. Be up here in fifteen minutes.
Me: Since when do you give me orders?
Raul: Mea culpa, slavedriver.
“Okay, girls, I’m sorry to rush you, but I’ve got an interview upstairs shortly.” I frown. “The only problem is, I don’t have anyone to watch Toni.”
“I can watch myself,” Toni says, spearing an apple slice and chomping happily.
Right. “Not gonna happen.”
“And I have to get back to the shop,” Samantha says with a frown. She looks back up at me. “You don’t have a single person among your hordes of minions that can watch a child for a few hours?”
Hordes of minions?
Really?
“My hordes of minions have jobs to do, Samantha,” I say evenly. Who the hell does she think she is?
She shrugs. “I’m sure you can find someone.”
