Been There Done That (Leffersbee #1) - Hope Ellis Page 0,17

backing, mind you—made others in the industry view us as stagnant. That if I took risks, was more aggressive about growing us . . .” He broke off, shaking his head. I knew my brother well enough to know that he was beyond angry; he had probably swallowed enough frustration and irritation that it was already bottlenecked inside him.

“I’m sorry, Walker.”

“Z, if she wasn’t our sister—” he cut himself off, seemed to gather a deep breath. “Anyway, one of the tellers came to the back and said customers could hear the yelling from the lobby—”

My jaw dropped. “Yelling? Y’all were yelling? Loud enough that people could hear from the front?”

Walker closed his eyes. “Z. You know I’m not that dude. Raising my voice, getting heated like that.”

“That’s not you.”

“Right. And truth be told, it was mostly her getting loud.”

I bit my lip. I considered myself pretty easygoing but I could recount more than a few instances where Tavia had pushed me to the edge and I’d lost my shit.

“Alright,” Leigh said, briskly. “Walker gets no points for his general messiness and multiple liaisons. We’re issuing sympathy points to the poor woman who obviously doesn’t know what’s she’s gotten herself into. But five points awarded for the usual sister strife.”

“You next,” I ordered Leigh, sliding down from the stool to head to the cupboards for a glass. “I think I’ve got Diet Coke. Anyone want some?”

“Don’t offer us anything from that fridge unless you’re handing out antibiotics, too.”

“Ha ha. What’s your story for the day?” I filled the glass with tap water and rested against the sink.

Leigh yawned and stretched. Walker watched with rapt attention as her back arched. “Another tit-grabber. I was using my Pete the Patient doll to explain what’s going to happen during this kid’s surgery next week and this little goober kept grabbing my breast.”

Walker looked like he was fighting back a smile. “Sound effects?”

“Worse. He kept saying, ‘soft,’ in this weird voice. With every squeeze. Mom tried to tell him to stop, started giving him this speech about boundaries and body parts that he’s not paying any significant attention to at four years old. And you know what he says?”

Walker bites. “What?”

“He says, ‘Like Daddy! See?’ and squeezes me again while saying, ‘soft.’”

I bit my lip.

“The mom was mortified. The dad got up and left the room. And that’s not all of it. The kid’s hands had ketchup on them, so I spent the day walking around with bloody-looking, child-size handprints on my boob.”

“I will never understand how you ended up working with kids when you eat them for nourishment.”

“If only your mother had eaten you . . .” Leigh’s expression softened as she turned to me. “By the way, thanks for all those Etch A Sketches you left in my kitchen last week. They really helped out. We haven’t gotten the usual donations from our toy manufacturers and our stash needed a shot in the arm. You didn’t pay too much, did you?”

I waved away her question. “I’m just glad it helped. Let me know what’s next on the list.”

Walker looked between us. “I wanna help, too. Tell me what’s next on your list, Leigh, and I’ll get it you. Although,” his expression turned smug, “you get zero points. What you’ve described is an occupational hazard. I’d be willing to throw some points the kid’s way, though. He’s the one having surgery.” He turned to me, his expression expectant. “Ok, Z. You’re up. Spill.”

I took a sip from the glass, wishing it was something stronger. Like kerosene.

“Well, I had a surprise visit in my office today. Couple of university officials came by . . . with an old boyfriend of mine in tow.”

Leigh’s head tilted. “Old boyfriend from how long ago?” Her foot beat a frantic beat against the counter island. “Gym Rat Poet? Finnish Foreskin?”

Walker grimaced. “Jesus.”

She grinned back at him. “What? Sometimes good things come with uncircumcised packages,” her grin widened, “as Zora found out.”

I paused for effect, then let the bomb drop. “Nick Armstrong.”

It took them both a minute to react.

Walker leaned back, mouth open.

Leigh exploded. “What?!”

“Yes,” I confirmed.

“Mr. Houdini himself?”

Walker raised an eyebrow. “You have a nickname for everyone?”

“He’s the original disappearing act,” she sputtered.

“What’s my nickname?”

“Trust me, you don’t want to know.” She planted both hands on the counter, leaning closer to me. “Oh, he’s back is he? Did you tell him we saw him with that red-headed ho—”

“Leigh.” Fatigue weighed heavily on my shoulders. “We don’t know that she