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Linking his fingers together, August placed his hands on top of his head and paced back and forth across the linoleum. On his third pass, a sparkle of light caught his eye, and he paused to stare at Meredith’s purse where it had fallen over on the counter. Without a word, he marched over and grabbed the blue-tinted glass bottle that peeked out from the zipper.
“Is this the stuff from the witch?”
Meredith shook her head. “It’s from another seller. She makes soaps, shampoos, and perfumes.” She took the bottle from August, popped the cork out of the top, and inhaled deeply. “You’d swear they were really magic potions, though. Everything she brings me just flies off the shelves.”
The crescent moon logo on in the bottom corner of the bottle tickled something at the edges of memory. The longer he stared at the bottle and the logo, however, the less familiar it seemed. Shaking his head, he scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed.
“Get ready for your date, love. We’ll figure this out tomorrow.”
Stepping forward, Meredith touched his forearm with her fingertips. “I’ll do whatever I can to help, but tell me you know I’d never hurt you.”
August pulled the petite redhead into his arms and kissed the top of her head. “I know, Mer. I’m just worried, that’s all. Promise me you’ll be careful.”
“You think someone might try to hurt me?”
Yes, he did. Whoever had poisoned him had gone through Meredith to do it, and he had to assume they’d try again. Next time, Meredith could end up caught in the crossfire. In the meantime, far away from him was the safest place for her to be.
“Just be careful,” he repeated. Pasting on a smile he didn’t feel, he eased her back and winked. “Now, go knock ’em dead. I’ll be sure not to wait up.”
Bent over his desk, Micah rested his brow against the scratched, stained oak and groaned. For the hundredth time in the past hour, he very seriously considered hiring an assistant, but then, he quickly dismissed the notion…again. While he loathed paperwork and hated accounting, he had a bit of an issue with control. Namely, he couldn’t give it up.
When the ancient office phone rang from the corner of the desk, Micah snatched up the receiver, thankful for the reprieve, no matter how brief. “The Garage, this is Micah.”
“Hello, cupcake, how’s your day?” Ian sounded in high spirits, and Micah pictured the shit-eating grin stretched across the guy’s face.
“You’re a fucking moron, you know that, right?” Still, the sound of his friend’s voice eased some of the tension in his shoulders and lessened the throbbing of his temples. “My day is slow, tedious, and seemingly unending. Now, what do you want?”
“You’re doing paperwork, huh?”
“Yes,” Micah bit out through clenched teeth.
It had been his dream to purchase his own garage, and he loved working on the bikes the pack members brought to him. The actual business end of his business, however, he couldn’t stand. The insurance forms alone were enough to make his brain bleed.
“Why don’t you hire someone to take care of that shit for you?”
“I can’t afford to hire someone, and you damn well know it. Besides,” he mumbled, “who would I even get to do it right?”
Ian’s snort of laughter travelled over the line, but thankfully, he dropped the subject. “I was going to grill some steaks, so I just wanted to see if you’d be home for dinner or not.”
“Ah, actually, I kind of invited Ant over for dinner tonight.”
“That’s cool. I take it lunch went well?”
“Define ‘well’ exactly.” It could have been worse. Probably. Maybe. Micah flinched at Ian’s groan. “Hey, he agreed to dinner, so I must have done something right.”
“Yeah, you didn’t completely dick it up.” The beta sounded less than optimistic, though. “So, do you want me to grab an extra steak, or is this going to be a private occasion in which I need to make myself scarce?”
“No, I’d like for you to be there.” Sweet hell, he’d been reduced to a babbling adolescent facing down the prospect of asking his crush to the school dance. “Look, it’s no big thing, okay? And no, you don’t need to cook.”
“Well, that’s clear as mud.” Ian’s laughter cut off abruptly, and when he spoke, he sounded more than a little panicked. “Wait,you’renot cooking, are you? Because, I have to say, poisoning the guy might be a bit counterproductive.”
“You’re hilarious, asshole.” In reality, it wasn’t far from the truth. The last time Micah had attempted to cook, he’d somehow managed to perma-bake hard boiled eggs to the bottom of the pot. “I was thinking we could order pizza and watch a movie.”
Relaxing with his mate and his best friend, binging on comfort food, and watching blood and gore on the television sounded like the perfect night.
“Pizza’s okay, but steaks are better,” Ian answered. “I’ll grill. What time?”
“I’ll be home within the hour, and Ant’s supposed to be by around seven.”
