Page 34 of Mafia Boss' Surprise Baby

“I’ll get you the info as soon as I can,” she says curtly and I walk her to the door. I can’t help it. When I reach around her to put my hand on the knob, I lean in and kiss her cheek. I feel her gasp. I expect her to step back, self-protective and reproach me with her eyes. Instead, she lays her hand on my forearm for just a second and I’m suspended in time. It’s agony. Heaven and hell and no way to pick just one.

“You were right,” she says, barely audible. “I need to go.”

18

KATE

You got this.

The alert pings on my phone at five in the morning the day of my CPA exam. Mickey remembers the day and time, reaching out to send me one message that doesn’t say good luck but informs me of the faith he has in me. A warm flush that’s something like happiness flits through me before I push it down and get ready to go. Rory comes in from the gym.

“I have my test today,” I tell him.

“Good luck,” he says and heads to take a shower. So encouraging, as usual.

The test is a blur but I’m so focused on trying to recall everything I’ve studied and fold it into my responses. I’m done right before the four hours are up. I go home exhausted and wander around the house doing laundry and dishes, dumping some bagged salad in a bowl and eat that with about half a bottle of dressing on it.

I can’t think, and I want to talk about the exam because I’m so wired from the pressure and adrenaline of it. But the person I want to talk to is the same guy who quizzed me on the test prep while we sat on his roof deck with my bare feet in his lap. Thememory feels like getting punched repeatedly so I make myself quit thinking about it.

Unable to relax, I go through more info on the Oyster employees starting with the lowest paid. By this time, I know who has a new seventy-five-inch smart TV and who has fertility problems. Every detail. I squirm a little about some of the private stuff, and I will be glad to work in the legal sector again when this is done, but I don’t want anyone else cracking this case. Something makes me want to be the one to find the traitor and deliver the name to Mickey myself.

I have a couple suspects and I dig deeper on them, eventually falling asleep with my laptop. Mickey’s out of office the following day, but I shoot him an email letting him know I’ve narrowed it down. He asks me to meet with him the next evening to go over my data. I’m so excited to see him that it’s borderline embarrassing. I flat iron my hair so I can take it down for the meeting. It’s reckless, and I own that about myself.

We get food sent up from the restaurant, and I lay out the red flags. I don’t have a single definitive culprit yet, but I have six names, people close in age and neighborhood of residence who work the same or similar shifts and have all shown an increase in purchase transactions as well as increased credit card activity without carrying a balance in the last four or five months.

“This is good. How’d you think to look at their appliances and car repairs?”

“That’s big stuff that people put off when they’re paycheck to paycheck. Before I sold my car after my bachelor’s in LA, I had to wait three months to save up for the AC to get fixed.”

“You thought of everything. I’m gonna give the names to Rory tonight.”

“Okay. Is there anything—” I stop when I hear an alert on my phone. It’s the tone I’d set for the NASBA score release. I grab my phone and check the app.

I shoot to my feet, “Ninety-six! I got a ninety-six!” I crow, beaming.

“Of course you did. You knew that shit backward and forward. C’mere,” he rounds the table and I go to him, beaming.

Mickey grabs me in a bear hug, lifts me off my feet. “I’m so fuckin’ proud of you, Katie,” he says into my hair.

“Thank you,” I say, my throat tight and happy. “I couldn’t have done it without you. You gave me a job so I could afford it, you helped me study—”

“It was the least I could do.”

“I miss you,” I blurt out. “I miss you so much. I want to talk to you like fifty times a day.”

“I do as well,” he says roughly, and he looks away.

“I don’t know how I’m gonna do this,” I admit, stepping back from his embrace. I feel cold and bereft as soon as I’m out of his arms. “It sucks.”

“I’m sure it does,” he agrees. “But you’re gonna be in the twenty percent that pass all four the first try. I know it. You’re that smart.”

“I don’t mean how I’m gonna do the CPA, Mick,” I say, exasperated.

“I know what you meant,” he says and it sounds bitter. I step toward him before I stop myself and put my hand on his arm.

“Mick,” I say softly.

“Better not touch me unless you mean it,” he says gruffly.

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