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“Anna Switzer,” Fletch answers. “What did you know about her?”
He only shrugs. “Famous performer. Serial dater. The paparazzi obsesses over every little thing she does. I wouldn’t be surprised if she dons a wig and sunglasses, and lives an entirely private life we know nothing about.”
“I would do the same thing,” I grumble. “I have a problem with just my seventeen-year-old brother-in-law being in my space daily. Knowing what I do. The places I go.”
“I’m actually eighteen,” Cato grins. “And Iheareverything, too. Ya know, when you’re in your room and you think I’m asleep.” He flashes a toothy smile and takes a step back when Archer’s stroking fingers turn to fists. “I figure it’s the gentlemanly thing to do to shut my mouth and let you guys finish.”
“You’re about to be homeless,” I growl. I raced past angry weeks ago, so now I’m firmly rooted in exasperation. He’s a kid, and he’s heard me come. This is exactly where I hoped my life would lead.Not.
Pushing off Archer’s lap, which only results in his stunned surprise and reaching hands, I turn back and collect my briefcase. “I’m going home.” But I grab his sleeve and ever-so-gently pull him to his feet. “I want an hour before our guest is back in our living room.”
“Child neglect,” Cato whines. “Abuse. You’re leaving me in a bar!”
“You’re eighteen.” I turn back and pat him on his too-muscular chest. “Tim is here. Fletch is here.” Then I turn and smile for Xavier. My newest employee. “Xavier is here. I’m certain between you all, you can ensure thechildis safe and cared for.”
I step around the youngest Malone and stop in front of the sweet little Mia. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Moo.” I tap her nose with the pad of my pointer finger, eliciting a giggle, which helps replace the ire in my veins with something warmer. “Keep an eye on Cato, okay? You’re way more mature than him, so he needs the grownups to keep him out of trouble.”
Eager, she nods so her soft, brown curls bounce by her chubby cheeks. “What’s ‘mature’ mean?”
“It means your brain is already smarter than his, and you’re just four years old.”
“Hey,” Cato frowns.
“It means we can trust you way more than we can trust him,” I continue. “You can cook and clean and take care of yourself already, Moo. Cato’s still like a baby.”
“He’s so silly,” she laughs. Then she puffs her chest and looks the youngest mafioso square between the eyes. “I’ll take care of you, Cato. Do you wanna have hotdogs on a stick for dinner? Daddy?” she looks to Fletch. “Can we have hotdogs on a stick for dinner?”
“Sure, baby.” He looks to Cato and sneers. “I’ll happily shove one down your throat, kid.”
“Come on.” Archer’s voice dances into my ear and leaves goosebumps sprinting along my spine. He takes my briefcase and slips his free arm across my torso so his hand rests on my opposite hip. “We’re on the clock, Mayet. One hour.”
I let him walk me across the bar and through the heavy wooden door. Then, once we’re on the sidewalk outside, steer me to the right and through the glass door directly next to the bar.
It was pure coincidence that I moved into the apartment building hugging the one that belongs to the man who would eventually become my brother-in-law. That same night, a snowstorm caved in my ceiling, freezing me out of my apartment, so as a woman new to the city, I wandered to the closest warm place, and there I met Timothy Malone.
He made me a burger and poured me a drink. Later that night, I went home with Archer Malone.
The rest, as they say, is history.
“Well, hey there, Doctor Mayet.” My elderly landlord pushes away from a chair by his apartment door and opens his arms for me to step into.
Like the mayor, this wasn’t a relationship I ever initiated or wanted. But Steve is a total sweetheart, so I move from Archer and allow the older man to hold me close.
He’s soft and warm. His cardigan smells of Old Spice and good coffee, and when he sets his chin on my shoulder, his warm breath tickling my neck, I exhale pent-up tension I hadn’t even realized I was holding onto.
My parents were good people; they worked hard to keep me clothed, fed, and medicated. I was never abused, and I wasn’t neglected. At least, not in the traditional sense. I had everything I needed. But I didn’t get bedtime stories, or a parent at home most of the time. They both worked hard, often maintaining more than one job each. We didn’t have meals at the table together, and rarely, if ever, did we simply stop and hug for the sake of hugging.
There was just never enough time.
Steve, by comparison, seems to have all the time in the world.
“You seem a little beat,” he rumbles, pulling back to hold my hands. “Getting enough sleep?”
I snicker and try fruitlessly to take my hands back. I’m not accustomed to physical affection by anyone but Archer. But Steve isn’t ready to let go yet. “I never get enough sleep. How are you?”
“Oh, I’m just fine.”
Pursing my lips, I cast a look over his face and body. A medical scan, I suppose, though I don’t say so.
