Page 5 of Gluttony

“Mickey?”

“Yeah, babe?” The clinking of dishes and utensils behind me doesn’t stop as I take a step back from the board as though needing a look at the bigger picture.

“The job application…who was it for? Which owner?” I already know the answer but I need to hear it again.

“Um, I told you, it’s for all three.” I don’t care that Mickey’s annoyed with me because I think I know how to make sure they hire me instead of any other number of applicants.

“Yeah, I know, just wanted to confirm.” His grunt has my eyes rolling. Mickey always gets like this before a big job. He’s nervous, not comfortable when he doesn’t have complete control.

“And by the way, their current executive assistant is out for the next three months.” The bomb that Mickey drops has my head snapping his way fast enough to almost give me whiplash.

“Three…months?” The plan was to drop a small amount of cocaine in her purse, which I did the other day as I walked past her. Once that was done, I called Mickey, who put in ananonymous call to the tip line from a burner phone saying Abby Flemmings was in possession of drugs. The plan was for her to be on probation while her case went to court. Or maybe fired. From everything we learned about the three men, they do not tolerate bad behavior. Unless, of course, they’re the actors.

Hypocrites. The way of the rich.

“Yeah, the plan backfired so we had to improvise.” I frown as I watch him get our drinks and glasses out.

“Mickey! Can you stop moving for a minute and tell me what’s going on?” I don’t like it when he’s evasive, it means I’m going to hate what he says next.

With a sigh, he presses his palms to the counter and hangs his head between his shoulders, shaking it just enough to show his annoyance. I get it, I’m pushing, but shit, I need to know what’s going on.

“Those assholes bailed her out then got a fancy lawyer. Barely lost a day of work so I had to find another solution.” When he’s done, he raises his head and stares straight at me, unwavering. “Plan B.”

I frown at his words. “More like plan D at this point. What did you do? How do you know she’s out three months?” It’s oddly specific.

“I paid some guy a lot of money to run her over. To make it look like an accident.” He’s back to moving about in the kitchen like it’s no big fucking deal.

“What the fuck, Mickey?” My outrage is barely whispered, that’s how shocked I am. “You got her hurt?” She wasn’t a mark, she’s a regular person just like us.

The delivery guy chooses this moment to show up. Ignoring me, Mickey walks, calm as can be, to the intercom and buzzes the guy in.

“She’ll be fine. You don’t need to worry about her.” With his fingers clutching the door handle, Mickey’s gaze meets mine andfor a second, we just stare each other down until a slow, boyish grin lifts the corners of his mouth. “It’s taken care of, babe. Now, all you need to do is your part. The better you work, the quicker it’ll be.”

I walk up to him, stop when I’m just inches away, and frown. “We don’t hurt people, Mickey. The bullies get what’s coming to them, but the others? We. Don’t. Hurt. Them.”

Mickey’s mouth is suddenly on mine, his hand at the back of my head and his tongue demanding entrance. I know what he’s doing, I’m well versed in all of his tricks and have been since he became my foster brother years ago. But this man has been my constant, my rock, my everything for almost two decades and refusing him is nearly impossible.

Once I melt into the kiss, he pulls away and rests his forehead against mine, his breaths coming in heavier than before. “It’s just you and me, babe. We do what we gotta do to make our dreams come true.”

I nod and just as my head settles on his shoulder, the knock at the door disrupts our moment.

Ten minutes later, we’re sitting, facing each other, cross-legged and eating our dinner while Mickey quizzes me.

“Okay so why is the company named H2O?” His question is immediately followed by a heap of noodles slurped into his mouth.

“It’s their initials. The twins, Hadley and Hayes, and then Orion.” Bringing my chopsticks to my mouth, I chew my fried rice while Mickey swallows his Pad Thai and nods at my correct answer.

“Tell me about their teenage years.” On his way up to get more drinks, he smacks a kiss on my lips, grinning at how well I learned my part. The usual warmth I feel in my chest knowing I make him proud returns, urging me on to answer as best as I can.

“Orion is the youngest of the three by nine months. They met in boarding school, Kingston Academy in Notting Hill.” I sigh at the name. “I love that movie.”

Mickeytsksat me as he makes his way back with a glass of wine for me and a beer for him. “Concentrate.”

“Anyway, they meet in London, the fancy side, and become inseparable. I couldn’t find much information about that time except that around the age of seventeen they stopped hanging out with others as much and mainly kept to themselves. Where Hayes and Orion excelled grade wise, Hadley passed with a hail Mary.” I don’t add that I find it odd and that I’m certain it’s more of a personality thing than an intellectual one. “I think I can use that against him. Maybe it’s a weakness.” I doubt it, to be honest, but a girl can dream.

For the next couple of days, Mickey quizzes me at random times, throwing in some random music facts just in case it’s a requirement of working for a record company. By last night, I was on point and capable of firing off my knowledge without a second thought. This morning I don’t have any of the nervous ticks I’ve experienced these last few days and am confident about my job interview, yet I’m fussing at my closet, hesitating on the color. Specialists say blue is the best because it gives off the trust, loyalty, and integrity vibe. Problem is, black shows leadership and authority, something these three can relate to in their world. But is that what I want to communicate? No. As an executive assistant, I’ll basically be their bitch in heels. They don’t want me to show strength. Blue it is. A tapered cobalt blazer and skirt that cuts off just above the knees with a lighter shade for my blouse. It’s professional with a slight hint of sexy when I leave the first two buttons open and opt for a scarf to bring the colors together. “Is that how you’re wearing your hair?” Our eyes meet in the mirror just as Mickey walks out of the shower, towel wrapped low around his hips.

“Why?” I’ve got it in a low bun with a couple of wavy strands framing my face. My red hair is natural, aside from a few highlights to make it pop, the tone perfectly adapted to my skin. “It’s professional and neat.”

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