Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 57874 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57874 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
I broke off, now staring at him directly. He was smiling smugly, leaning back a little in his chair.
“A lot of them are men,” I pointed out, finally starting to put a few pieces together. “Truckers, I think. Odd, isn’t it?”
He shrugged his shoulders, still smiling at me. “Is it? I don’t really know what sort of patrons a salon has.”
“No?”
He shook his head. “Nope.”
“So you wouldn’t have any idea why I would suddenly have an influx of clientele that matches the same kind of people you serve at your diner?”
Finally, he laughed and shook his head. “Isn’t that obvious?”
“You sent them to my salon?” I asked, sounding more confused than anything else. I couldn’t tell if I was supposed to be angry with him for butting in or grateful for sending business my way. I’d done better in the last month than I had in a long time, and that included when the convenience store had been open.
Waving it off, he admitted, “I recommend your place when they come in. Nothing wrong with that.”
I sat back in my chair, studying him. “Why are you helping me out?”
His smile dropped a little, though he didn’t look angry or wicked or anything. He just looked like a man who was talking to a woman. It was both refreshing and a little disconcerting. “I want to make sure business goes well. Now that we’re partners,” he waved his hand between us for emphasis, “I have a little more stake in the matter. A business that doesn’t do well doesn’t do me any good, now does it?”
“No, I guess not,” I admitted, though I had a weird feeling about the whole thing. Like maybe this wasn’t just about the drugs or his business ventures.
Clearing his throat, he sat up a little straighter. For half a second, I almost thought he looked nervous, but the moment passed so quickly that I was sure I imagined it. “Which is why I have to insist that you fix that damn hole in your store. You can’t run a business with a wall missing and nothing but blackened char on the other side of it.”
I narrowed my eyes at him, feeling anger bubble up. Seriously? He set the damn fire in the first place! Not that I could actually throw that argument out there, true or not. Talking about those sorts of things in public were definitely on the list of things I was not allowed to do. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I don’t exactly have money to donate towards the fixing up the arsonist’s handiwork fund, if you know what I mean.”
Ignoring my quip, he continued, “I understand that the insurance company is giving you a hard time. So in the interest of both of our businesses being successful, I’m donating the money.”
I blinked at him. “What?”
“For clearing away the debris from the fire and putting up that damn wall,” he clarified. “It bugs the hell out of me that my drugs are being stored in a place that is missing a wall.”
Feeling indignant on The Cut’s behalf, I straightened up a little and said, “Hey, the storage in the back has four walls and a locked door, okay? It’s secure.”
“Not the point. I want the wall fixed. And I want new paint inside. Maybe some new chairs. Whatever.” He waved his hand as though dismissing the details for someone else—like me—to deal with.
I found myself staring at him, not really sure what to say. Thank you? Technically it was his fault that there was damage to repair in the first place. But he didn’t have to send business my way, regardless of his given reasons, and he definitely didn’t have to give me money to spruce up The Cut. “I…I guess I don’t know what to say,” I told him finally.
He smiled and for a heartbeat, I was sure it was a real, genuine smile. “Thank you, comes to mind. I hear it’s the traditional response anyway.”
I narrowed my eyes at him, but a smile tugged at my lips. “I’ll send a card.”
We finished up our meal—I got mine packed up to go, because it was more food than I could eat—then stood.
“There’s a spot in the back where we can take care of business.”
My heart dropped as reality came crashing back down on me. I remembered that I was here because I was the equivalent of a call girl, and I was paying him for protection from the things that he might do to me.
I nodded at him and followed him to a small room in the back. It had to be used for storage or something, though there were only a few crates and boxes along the walls. There was a table with a cloth laid down and some candles lit. Almost romantic. But not quite.