Up to Me - By M. Leighton Page 0,23

said sarcastically.

"What? I can be nice."

"You can be, but you haven't been. That would be like rubbing salt in a wound if you offered her a ride to work because her car's a junker and she can't afford anything else right now. Especially after the way you've treated her."

I had to grit my teeth. Just thinking of Taryn mistreating Olivia was enough to make me see red. But I couldn't let her see that. So, I hid it all behind the mask that my face has become.

"Are you kidding me? I bought her a shot last night and offered to take her out after work. What else do you want me to do? Donate my blood to help her pay for a car?"

"Don't be a smart ass. I didn't ask you to be her best friend. That's on you. I'm just telling you not to give her so much shit. She's having it rough."

Taryn smiled in that vampy way she has, a way that used to end up with us getting naked somewhere, but now does absolutely nothing for me. I hoped she saw that, but her next action assured me she didn't.

"Anything for you, boss." She leaned in toward me as she spoke. Not enough to rub up against me, but enough that her ample chest was just brushing mine.

"Now that's the attitude I like for my employees to have," I said nonchalantly, turning to head back into the bar.

I purposely didn't glance at Olivia on my way back in. I didn't want her to think I'd betrayed our secret. Well, it's not really our secret; I don't care who knows. It's more her secret.

Now, as I glance out at the bar, I see Taryn smiling and tending her customers. I haven't seen her antagonizing Olivia at all. Of course, I haven't really seen her pay much attention to her either way. I'd much prefer her to just ignore Olivia. That would be best all the way around.

I'm sitting down at my desk when my phone bleeps, the notification of an incoming text message.

Is this the number for help wanted in the twin cities?

My pulse picks up. It's a response to the ad.

Yes.

My reply is short. I don't really know what else to say.

You're lucky I'm in town. I'll be there in 3 hours.

My first thought is to wonder how a perfect stranger would know where to find me. The only thing listed in the online ad other than my phone number was the short two-sentence blurb my father had me post.

Urgent help wanted in the Twin Cities. Stop.

It says nothing of my location. Maybe the area code of my phone could be used to get a general location, but nothing specific enough to actually find me.

Unless there is tracing involved.

You know where I am?

The reply makes me uneasy.

Of course.

I've deduced that people from my father's past have been keeping an eye on us, but it seems like the group is much larger - and hopefully a lot friendlier, in some cases - than I'd originally suspected.

Of course, I have a thousand questions, things like who the hell are you, how are you associated with my father and why have you been watching me. I'm torn between asking now or waiting. In the end, I figure it's best to wait. Dad had me reach out to them. I have to trust that he knows what he's doing. I know he'd never get me hurt if he could help it. Still, the whole thing makes me nervous.

Putting that out of my mind, I think about how grateful I am for technology. The online ad alerted somebody. Fast. Somebody my father thinks can help. And, judging by the short, gruff text, he's probably not the type of person most people would call a "pleasant" association. But, that's the nature of the business my father was in. I've known it for a long time. I just never expected it to have such a profound and intimate impact on my life.

Pulling out the books for the club, I work on some accounting, hoping that will help me get through the next three hours. I can't really go out and mingle in the club - I can't keep my eyes off Olivia - so that