Page 21 of Wicked S.O.B.

The million-dollar question. This could be over very quickly or it could take the rest of the afternoon. “Can I let you know when I’m ready?” I reply.

“Of course. Have a great afternoon.”

My smile feels a little wobbly as I step away from the car and turn around. I haven’t used the steel door ahead of me for almost a year, and although I could’ve used the formal main doors at the front of the building, this feels more authentic. Behind me, I hear the car idling as Lionel waits for me to enter the building before he leaves.

I’m grateful for his consideration but also a little pissed at the pressure for me to get on with it. I force my feet to move. Down the stairs to the entrance, I’m faced with the coded panel. Shit, what if it’s been changed? A small part of me momentarily hopes it has. Maybe this wasn’t a great idea after all.

I key in the code. My heart skips an erratic beat as the door springs open. I grasp the handle and pull it wider. I hear the car rolling away as I head down the stairs into the basement. I open another door, and I’m hit with the smell of industrial-strength detergent and a thick cloud of steam. Memory returns like a clanging church bell.

This was my lifeline to anonymity a year ago, the place where I came to hide during the day and earned enough money to keep a roof over my head at night. The familiar sound of dishes being put through giant industrial washers filters through from the floor below me, but that’s not where I’m headed today. I walk through the double doors, bypass the rec room, and hurry to the locker room. Inside there are a couple of women I don’t recognize from my time here, which is good, although the quizzical looks they give me doesn’t help my anxiety.

I don’t have to worry about Miguel, the ex-colleague and fellow dishwasher who used to not-so-subtly hit on me. He made the mistake of grabbing me a little too roughly once during a conversation and leaving a bruise on my wrist. He had no idea then that he’d left a mark on the one-million-dollar property that belonged to Quinn Blackwood. I never discovered the ins and outs of Miguel’s subsequent departure, and to be honest, I try not to think too hard about it.

I undress quickly, change into the clothes in the bag, and stash my things in the locker. As I climb the stairs back to the ground floor, I replay this same scene from a year ago when I was on my way to meeting Quinn Blackwood for the first time. Fortunately without the crippling terror and sweaty palms.

A few people look up as I head toward the office of the catering manager. Sully Manning hasn’t aged since I last saw him, although his hair is a little longer than I remember. He raises his head as I approach his door.

If he’d wondered about my odd request when I phoned him an hour ago, it doesn’t show on his face now. He drops his pen on the table and leans back in his creaking chair.

“Look who the gods graced us with today,” he says with his Irish Italian brusqueness.

“Hi, Sully.”

His solemn gray gaze traces me from head to toe. “Hi, yourself. You’re a sight for sore eyes around here, that’s for sure.”

The genuine affection in his voice makes my mounting anxiety settle for the first time since I thought up this insane idea. “Thanks for…umm…helping me out with this.”

He shrugs. “Hey, it’s not the worst idea I’ve heard in my long years. Everything is set up for you upstairs. If that idiot chef gives you any grief, let me know. He’s on his last warning. I need an excuse to kick his bony ass to the curb without getting the union all up in my face.” He returns my nervous giggle with a smile.

“Will do.”

As I’m about to turn away, he clears his throat. “Listen, kid, if I don’t see you down here on account of things going okay upstairs, I’m glad everything worked out for you.”

I have to swallow the stone in my throat before I can speak. “Thank you, Sully, for giving me a chance.”

He nods briskly and picks up his pen. “Right. I have work to do. Stop distracting me.”

My responding grin dissolves when I reach the elevator. Just like the first time I took this elevator, my palms are clammy, and my finger trembles as I hit the button markedB. Executive. All too soon the elevator doors are opening, spilling me out into the giant, stunning skylit space that is the restaurant reserved exclusively for the top hierarchy of Blackwood Tower employees. As I head to the chef’s station, I can’t help but glance over at the table beneath the north window. The place where I first set eyes on Quinn. We’ve been through so much since then, and yet it feels like yesterday.

With a deep breath, I resume walking toward the chef’s station. He’s barking orders at his unfortunate minions. Nothing new there. He stops midbark when he sees me, and his eyes widen in unpleasant surprise.

For a moment, I wonder if Sully withheld telling him I would be coming up in the hope that the arrogant chef would react in a way that’ll get him fired.

The fighter in me wills him to display the innate arrogance he tosses around to everyone in his kitchen. When I catch the barest, quickly suppressed hint of assholery, my middle finger twitches with the urge to flip him off for humiliating me all those previous times I worked for him. But I manage to convince myself I’m better than that.

Besides, I want today to go perfectly. So I stride forward and look him in the eye. “Is everything ready for me?”

The brisk authority in my voice makes his eyes widen further. Then his head bobs like one of those comical dashboard toys. “Of course, ma’am. Lee will bring it out to you. Lee!” A snap of his fingers gets another minion jumping to attention. He issues instructions without taking his eyes off me, and I see the same questions flitting through his eyes that I get when people see me with Quinn.How? When? Where? Really?

My thin smile confirms silently,Yes, really, and I see you, asshole, so fucking watch it.

He confirms to me how much he treasures his little empire in that moment because the last trace of arrogance leaves his face, and his gaze slides from mine. His voice is a touch subdued as he does my bidding. When the harried Lee approaches me holding what I need, I smile. His breath catches audibly, and his gaze drops to my boobs. Okay…normal service has resumed.

I hide a grimace. “Thanks.”

“M-my pleasure,” he gushes.

The chef shoots him a sharp look as I turn away, but I’m too nervous to get up in his business.

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