“She’s coming,” B. replied on a whisper, head bowed.
She didn’t want any staff to hear. When at work, they were banned from making personal calls.
Though, since this was an order from her boss, it wasn’t exactly personal.
Still, he’d made it clear he wanted this matter treated with the utmost confidentiality.
And she was a girl who lived to serve.
“What?” he asked, now sounding a lot less distracted.
“She’s coming. Tonight. Ten thirty. I told her all the salons were booked. She’s in social, where you asked me to put her.”
“Do not put anyone else in there,” he ordered. “And cameras off the minute you leave her in there.”
“Okay,” she agreed. “Does that mean you’re coming?”
“Yeah.”
Her heart skipped.
“Just so you know, I’d tell another client who shows that someone else is expected in the chamber,” she told him. “She’s never gone social as far as I know but she’ll know to expect that. You can’t just show. She’ll know that’s fishy.”
“Then share she’ll have company,” he allowed.
“Okay. See you later, Nick.”
“Later,” he grunted perfunctorily then disengaged.
But she was going to see him later so she didn’t mind his abruptness.
She smiled, stowed her cell and walked back to reception, anticipating Nick Sebring’s arrival and hoping, after he did whatever he did with Olivia Shade, a.k.a. Ms. Lincoln, he’d have time for her.
Chapter Three
Dawn Coming
Olivia
I leaned toward the front seat of the car, the folded bills between my fingers, my eyes on Harry’s profile.
“As usual, I’ll probably be a few hours, Harry,” I told him, extending my hand over the seat.
He turned to catch my eyes. “Walk you to the door.”
I allowed my lips to curl up and my eyes to get moderately soft.
Harry was a leftover from a different time. A time long ago when I’d slept easier. When I believed my daydreams could come true. When a look or a stolen touch was a promise. When plans were whispered and my stomach flip-flopped or my heart skipped with excitement at the mere thought of carrying them out. When I faced the dawn every day joyful because one day I knew it would be over. I would be free. We would be free. We’d be normal. We’d be together. We’d make babies. We’d grow old together. We’d be happy.
We’d die clean.
He’d helped us, Harry had. He’d helped me and Tommy.
Because my sister loved me and because Harry was a leftover from my grandfather, out of respect for me (from Georgia) and for my dead grandfather (from Dad), they’d let Harry live. They’d made him unemployable and taken nearly everything he had so he lived in a tiny house in a terrible neighborhood taking jobs at odd hours, all of them for cash
, all of them, except mine, for a lot less cash than he should considering many of them were dangerous.
Sixty-eight-years-old, scrimping, saving and destined to work until the day he died or was killed because he was at the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong people.