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“Whose fault is it if I don’t have a pair anymore because someone kneed them to kingdom come last night?”
There’s a fast blink, followed by an innocent, sweet smile. “I think the entire world would agree that the fault lies entirely with you for that one, my sweet noddle poodle poo snookums of an unwanted fiancé. Entirely. With. You.”
She holds her head high, like the queen of all librarians, as she walks down the stairs, one small, dainty hand on the railing as she makes her way down. I stare after her, my mouth gaping open with a faint buzzing in my blood and a not-so-faint ache in my nuts at the reminder of last night. And I know. I know she’s as right about that as she has been about everything else.
Now that Plan A has backfired so spectacularly, I need to “put on my big boy breeches” and go for Plan B.
I suppose I should also figure out what Plan B is. Yeah, that’s right. So I thought this would go a lot more smoothly than it did. Har hardy har har.
CHAPTER 8
Azalea
Despite the whole salt of the earth, good people talk just given to me by the most unreliable, hypocritical, not to be trusted source, I find myself swallowing thickly when I approach the kitchen. It’s all shiny and new, the whole house quite an open concept for something apparently so old. Whoever bought it did a complete gut, and I don’t for a second believe it was Alden. I’m not so sure he even owns the place, but I am sure this house is just a means to an end. When he has what he wants, he’ll get the heck out of Seaside.
Gathered around a table large enough to seat an entire village are four burly men, in addition to the four burly men from last night, who I know to be Alden’s goons or coworkers or whatever he calls them. Scarlet is seated at the head, looking otherworldly beautiful but also business-like proper in a black blouse, her white hair wound up and loosely tucked into the nape of her neck. She has twinkling black studs in her ears, and a black stone in a silver setting rests overtop her blouse. Her hands are folded neatly in front of her empty plate.
The table is laden with food. I can’t believe she was able to cook all this. At any rate, I know someone cooked it since I heard the banging of pots and pans for hours before the knock came at my door.
There’s an empty seat beside one of the goons, and the seat opposite that, at the other end of the table. I don’t want to sit perched there, but what I want and how I’d like to appear are two separate things. I want to appear like I’m undaunted and have all this under control even though I sure as shit don’t. I want to appear rigid and unmoved, so, yeah, I find myself plopping down into the empty chair.
Alden stalks across the kitchen a few seconds later. He pulls out the chair beside me and sits down heavily.
I keep my head up and gaze straight, but I can still see the smirks around the table.
“How are your biscuits this morning?” one of the new guys asks.
They’re all wearing various shades of black. I mean, black, but different kinds of it. Anyway, this guy looks tough. He has his hair cut into that up-cut style that makes people appear gangster-like, but this guy truly looks the part. He has a long scar that runs from his forehead, zigzags across the bridge of his nose, and down over his chin. Despite that, his face is rather handsome. His dark, broody features suit his black leather jacket and the tattoos creeping up his neck and adorning his hands.
“You know very well how they are,” Alden grumbles without looking up. “You already asked me three times this morning.”
There’s a chorus of laughter around the table before Scarlet cuts it off by raising her slim, surprisingly unwrinkled hand. “First of all, I wanted to say that it’s humor a senior citizen day today, so if you could all give me the benefit of the doubt….” She looks right at me. I’m pretty sure there is no such day, but who knows? The world has so many wonky days invented that it could be true. “It would be appreciated. Secondly, it does this old fart of a heart good to have you all here. Lastly, enough about Alden’s embarrassing swim last night. We’re here to discuss business, and since we all know who has rules about not doing that at the table, we’ll darn well discuss it over this meal. So, dig in, and we’ll get down to answering questions.”
