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“What? What do you mean?” Owen asks.
‘Yeah. Did someone say something?” Livvy asks.
I think carefully about what I’m going to say. I don’t want to create a mountain out of a mole hill. Maybe Bartlett’s remark was nothing more than a casual joke. But something’s telling me it wasn’t.
“It was weird, but I was chatting with Bart Murray, you know, probing him for info about the mysterious developer, and he changed the subject to say we aren’t supposed to have animals in here.”
Owen’s mouth drops. “Really?”
“I know. Well, I agreed and laughed it off, explaining it was a one-time thing. And then he said something about how it would be bad to get a citation from the health department when we are about to head into a period of uncertainty.”
“Are youkidding?” Weston sets his beer down.
They’re quiet while they digest this bit of information.
Personally, I’m not surprised. There’s something off about Bartlett, beyond his cheesy politician-type glad-handing. He’s smarmy, sure, but there’s another thing bothering me. I think I know what it is.
I know people like Bartlett Murray. I grew up surrounded by them. People who smile in your face one day and stab you in the back the next. I’m from a scrappy neighborhood, and people do what they have to in order to get by. Does that excuse them? Depends on who you ask.
It’s the way things are done in some places. Don’t like something the city does? ‘Encourage’ a local council person to change things up.
And that encouragement usually comes in the form of dollars. My father always told me that’s how things were done in the old country, and those traditions followed people here. He saw nothing wrong with it, even when he learned most of America didn’t operate that way.
Pops wanted the landscaping contract for all the local parks? He ‘talked’ to someone who could help, and they did. Don’t know how much it cost him, but he got what he wanted.
I can smell that shit a mile away.
“I have a weird feeling Bartlett is up to something. I don’t know why he’d bother with a veiled threat, though. I thought he liked us. We’ve certainly given him enough free drinks.”
Weston gets to his feet. “Yeah, the guy’s a major mooch. Hey, I have to close out some things in the office. If you leave before me, be sure to lock up.”
Interesting. Looks like I’m the only one tripping about Bartlett’s odd comment. Owen’s barely listening, in fact.
I quickly figure out why. And what he has in mind is a lot more fun than worrying about a creepy city councilperson.
Livvy pulls her shoes back on. “I need to get going too. I have an early grooming appointment with Mrs. Perkin’s dog. “You know, the one that—”
I raise my hands. “Yeah, yeah. I remember that canine beast. Look at you, living the good life.”
She sticks her tongue out at me. “A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do,” she sing-songs.
Damn. Is she flirting? Livvy, of the sensible shoes, vegetarian tastes, and verbal diarrhea?
I like it. And so does my cock.
She gets to her feet, but Owen grabs her hand.
“Admit it. We put on a hell of a party, Liv,” he says.
Damn. We’re doing nicknames now?
She giggles. Actually giggles. Then, she goes all high school on us by bending down and laying one right on Owen’s lips.
And just like a high schooler, she straightens back up and tosses her hair around. The full theatrical package.
Was she like this in high school?
No. No way. I’d bet the restaurant and everything else I own that she was the quiet nerd in the corner, plotting her getaway.
