Page 192 of Tormented Billionaire Romance Series

We opened up all the lockers surrounding number 26, for two layers, but no apron could be found, not even any belongings of any kind.

“Let’s look in the bathroom and lost-and-found,” I decided.

Suzie’s glare informed me she had already looked in those places, but again she complied and went along with me.

At the end of the search, no apron.

Suzie groaned and shook her head. I had never seen her so distressed before. My heart went out to her. “It’s not in the shop anymore, is it?” she moaned.

“No,” I agreed. “You know June’s policy.”

“Dammit.”

I tilted my head. “You know someone left their drugs here once and the cops tracked it to the shop overnight. It was closed for days. You know that’s why she tosses out anything left in the lockers after closing.”

“Ugh. But it’s an apron!” Suzie smacked her palm on the wall, her teeth gritted.

“And that’s her policy and we agreed to it when we were hired. It’s just the same as wearing a uniform and scheduling vacation time. If it hadn’t been trash day…” But today was in fact trash day, which meant Suzie’s precious apron was in a landfill somewhere on the edge of the city.

“Shit,” she swore again.

“I’m sorry.”

“Are you?” She spun, glaring down at me.

I hunched up my shoulders, shivering under her cold stare. “Well, yeah. I am. I mean, we aren’t friends, but I can tell that apron was important to you in some way. I’m sorry that you lost it.”

Suzie suddenly went slack, flopping against the wall. “Can I tell you something?” she asked. “Like you said, we aren’t friends. But you’re the only one who seems like they’d care. Darren and Abram sure won’t, the idiots.”

“I agree that they wouldn’t care. I think I shouldn’t, either.”

Hurt flashed across her face and she whirled again, this time away from me. “Forget it.”

“Wait.” I grabbed her arm. “I said Ishouldn’t.But I do. What is it?”

She stared with suspicion written clear in her eyes before sagging on the wall again. “My mom’s going to kill me, is what. She had that apron made for me, to look exactly like the one I used to wear when I was a kid. Now it’s gone and she’s going to be so upset.”

“What did the one you had as a kid look like?”

“Why?”

I couldn’t believe I was about to say this. “I can make you one.”

“You?”

“Me.”

Suzie’s suspicion returned. “Yeah, right.”

“That dress I wore to the party?” I reminded her. “I found that in a Goodwill. All ratty and plain. I’m the one who fixed it up and made it look so good.”

“You’re lying.” Suzie looked closer at me. “Holy shit, you aren’t lying. You really made that dress. You can totally make me a new apron. How much?”

“How much did your mom’s gift cost? Estimated?”

“$103.55,” she said, rattling off the number like it was no big deal. I hadn’t expected her to actually have an answer. I’d been under the assumption wealthy people didn’t pay attention to price. Or maybe that was how they measured love.

“I’ll make you one for $50. Just send me a picture of the one you had as a kid and I’ll make you a new one.”

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