Loverboy (The Company #2) - Sarina Bowen Page 0,54

I’m all set.” Her eyes dip, as if she’s embarrassed for snapping at me.

“Yeah, thanks,” I say slowly. “Heads up, though, about table number four.”

Posy’s eyes dart over to where Saroya is seated, sipping her drink and flipping through a magazine. “Oh. Seriously? Thanks for the warning.”

“You want me to stick around?”

She shakes her head. “Nah. Go on. I can handle her.”

I go back into the kitchen and help myself to a sausage hand pie that's cooling on the rack. I grab my laptop, too, and go outside to sit on the back step. I eat the pie one-handed while I do a little Google searching. Saroya’s social media is locked down, including the lists of her friends. But then I find an old Twitter account called @RealtorSaroya. She hasn’t touched it in years.

But your past always catches up to you, doesn’t it? As I skim past a list of old apartment listings, I find that in 2016, Saroya retweeted a bunch of things about the Rockaways Cheerleading bake sale. That rabbit hole leads me to a high school in the farthest reaches of Brooklyn, and its cheer team.

Apparently cheerleaders take a lot of photographs, because there are a million. She’s only identified as Saroya D. But that’s enough. I find photos of her in a million poses.

Yet it’s a plain old selfie that finally gives me the information I need. Saroya D. is pictured holding a trophy and standing beside a woman who could only be her mother. Their eyes are different, but their smiles are a perfect match. They have the same nose, and the same dark, gleaming hair.

But what’s more—I’ve met Saroya’s mother. The moment I see her face, a name pops into my mind. Anna. It only takes me a moment longer to recall where I met Anna. At Paxton’s Bistro. She worked as a hostess during my first year there, when I was just the errand boy who took leaking bags of garbage out back and tossed them into the dumpster.

I never had a real conversation with Anna the hostess. She was always up in the front of house and I was always in back. But I remember that she was fearsome, and the servers were all a little afraid of her.

And Saroya is her daughter? That’s another link to Posy. A huge coincidence. Unless it’s not a coincidence at all …

I stare at the old picture until my eyes are practically cross. As if sheer willpower could make the women in the photo animate and tell me exactly what I need to know.

“Gunnar?”

I whirl around at the sound of Posy’s voice, slamming the laptop shut in a hurry. “Yes?”

“Are you ever coming back from break? Or are you too busy looking at photos of cheerleaders to make coffee again?”

Shit. “Just reading something about a charity bake sale that my friend sent to me.” I stand up and dust crumbs off my apron. “Sorry to dilly dally.”

Posy gives me another dubious look. “No problem,” she says stiffly, before turning to go back inside.

Shit shit shit. I don’t think she had a good enough look at my laptop to pick out Saroya and her mom. There were at least five photos on the screen. “Everything okay?” I ask as I follow her through the kitchen and into the cafe. “Except for my tardiness, of course.”

She stops behind the counter, which thankfully has no line in front of it. She crosses her arms, one hip cocked against the bar. “I’m fine,” she says, her eyes flashing.

There isn’t a lot of extra space back here, but lately it feels even smaller. She smells like lemon zest and vanilla extract. I never realized that baking scents were an aphrodisiac, but there you have it. And I’d like to get even closer to her. And naked, too.

But I will resist. The case I’m working keeps getting more complicated instead of less, so I can’t go there. “Did she say anything?” I ask, dragging my foggy brain back to the problem at hand.

“Who?” Posy whispers, her eyes a little glazed and her cheeks a little flushed. I’m not the only one who feels it.

“Your nemesis at table four,” I say softly, jerking my chin toward the chair where Saroya had sat less than an hour ago.

“Oh. No,” Posy says quickly. “She left without a word to me.”

“Well that’s good, I guess.” I pick up a rag and wipe the bar, even though it’s already clean. “Just curious. How did she and