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Tatum lasts until my ass is in my seat before exploding, “Who are you, and what did you do with my bestie? Because she does not flirt with management.”
“That’s because management never looked as good as Desmond Black.” Autumn chomps at the air, snapping her teeth.
Harlow gives me a look, the kind of look a friend gives another when they know they fucked up. I frown as I look at Harlow’s expressive violet eyes and round face. Her dark hair is in a bun on her head, with little tendrils placed to frame her face.
“I am so sorry, boo face.” Harlow launches herself at me, her arms tightening around my neck as she apologizes repeatedly. “I thought Sal would give the closing shift to Autumn. I didn’t know. I didn’t know he’d give you the shift. You have to believe me. I should have been here.”
Heart heavy, I pull back and push her away. “Harlow, it’s okay,” I tell her, but I know she doesn’t believe me. I can’t outright tell her that maybe if she had been here, the hitman would have killed her and that it worked out as it was supposed to. Instead, I say, “I’m all right, and you deserved a night out. Don’t feel guilty about that.”
“That isn’t—” She pauses and grinds her teeth. There’s something she wants to say, but she’s holding back. I can see it in her gaze and how she avoids eye contact. “Hey, shortstop,” she addresses Milo, who has the biggest hot fudge sundae in his hands.
“I’m going to hurt that man,” I grumble under my breath as I grasp for patience. Milo’s eyes are wide, and he’s thrilled about his sundae. “Milo, only eat what you can.”
“He’s eight,” Autumn murmurs. “Sugar is their sole diet.”
Milo shovels a spoonful into his mouth as the four of us look on. Chocolate drips down his face, and yet none of us move to wipe it away. There is just something innocent about a kid eating ice cream.
“Welcome.” Desmond steps out of the kitchen and slides onto a stool, propping one leg up on the bar and the other on the floor. The pose is masculine and screams that he is in control. The beanie is off, and his dark hair spikes up at odd little angles. That alone makes me give him a second look. He’s so well put together that a little unkemptness makes him more attractive.
He doesn’t need to ramp up his attractiveness though. The sleeves of his white button-down are rolled up, exposing his forearms covered in black ink that draws the eye. His muscular chest stretches the fabric until the buttons defy physics, and his black dress pants? I’m almost positive those were tailored to his body.
“By now, most of you know what happened to Sal.” He looks around the room at the staff. There is only about a dozen of us, but that is all we ever needed. Every face is somber, save for Milo, who is too busy eating ice cream to care. “I wanted to have this meeting sooner rather than later. The Tulip is going to remain open. However, I’m giving all of you the week off with bonus pay.”
Murmurs rise all around us. Not even Tatum has anything to say.
Desmond holds up his hands, trying to calm us down. “Until then, stay out of the kitchen.” He looks at each of us pointedly. His face holds a seriousness that borders on violent if any of us were to disobey him. He reaches behind him onto the bar top and holds up a stack of envelopes. “There is a therapist I’d like each of you to call. I’ve gone ahead and paid for the first three sessions. I want you to arrive at your appointment and see her before you return to work. Her card is in the envelope with your first appointment time.”
“A fuckin’ shrink.” Tatum crosses her arms and sinks down in her seat. “That’s a big pile of fuck no for me.”
“Tatum,” Desmond calls out, holding up her envelope. “Go, or I will call your father,” he warns.
“You wouldn’t,” Tatum snarls with the ferocity of a tiger. Her pale cheeks flush red to match her hair. She and Desmond enter into a staring contest until she finally looks away. “Fine, but I don’t like it.” She hops out of the booth and snatches the envelope, muttering under her breath.
I can’t help it. I turn to Harlow. “Are they related?”
“No,” she answers. “Their families just go way back.”
“She never let on that she knew him.” In fact, she talked about how he looks at me, and she never said she knew him.
“She wouldn’t.” Harlow turns to me, seeing my thoughts on my face. “Just because she said she wants someone to look at her that way doesn’t mean she wantshim.”
“I don’t want him,” I blurt out.
Harlow looks me up and down enough to tell me she doesn’t believe me. That’s when Desmond calls her name, and she hops over the seat, leaving just Milo and me. I missed Autumn leaving, but that doesn’t surprise me. She’s like a ghost.
One by one, he calls people up, talking to them quietly. My eyes stray behind him as I wait for him to call me up. The kitchen remains dark, but I don’t need to look to see the bloodstains on the tile. I do want to see the fridge where the bullet struck—a bullet that the agent has in a little baggie.
“Charlotte.” Desmond walks up to the table, holding an envelope. “I’d like to talk to you.” He does that head jerk thing guys do when they aren’t really asking.
“Milo, don’t go anywhere, all right?” He looks at me like I’m crazy. A book sits in his lap, his ice cream bowl is melting, and syrup is smeared across his face. I’m not sure he could move if he wanted to. He has that sleepy, contented look he always wore as a baby. Our mom called it milk drunk.
Looking away from the memories, I follow Desmond to the counter, where he pushes the envelope over to me. “I’m not going to ask you if you are okay, although I feel that’s a question I already know the answer to.”
“Logical.” I slide onto the seat and turn to face him. His complete attention is focused on me, and it’s unnerving.
“I need you to tell me something, Charlotte,” he starts, his voice a low timbre that ripples through me like a palpable wave. The intensity in his tone sends a shiver down my spine, raising the hair on my skin as if his words alone could touch me. “Tell me why you were here,” he demands, each word edged with a raw fervor that’s difficult to ignore. His eyes, those intense pools of emotion, bore into mine as if seeking a hidden truth that only I possess.
He’s baiting me, drawing me in then whipping his words against my flesh like a lash, and I fall for it.
