Page 55 of Strike
She narrowed her eyes. “Storm.”
“I haven’t been here in two weeks,” I said. “I never took you for a gambling woman, so who told you?”
“Hamish texted me,” she said with a shrug.
“Now you’re in cahoots.” I rolled my eyes.
“I can see you’ve fallen back into bad habits, or are you still sautéing in them after our last conversation?”
“What are you doing here?” I asked, ignoring her on purpose. “It’s been what? Almost a year and a half since you vowed not to grace The Underground with your presence?”
“Look who’s keeping count.”
“Is this an intervention?” I drawled.
“Nah.” She waved a hand at me. “It’s a friendly chitchat.”
“About?”
“Callie.”
I scowled and turned back to my beer.
“How are things there? Did you fight?”
“A little,” I muttered.
“And?”
“She believes me.”
“Why are you so shitty about it then?” she asked. “That’s fucking great, you know.”
“She was offered a job in Amsterdam yesterday,” I replied.
“Amsterdam? That’s very specific.”
“Some celebrity chef saw her cakes online.” I shrugged. “He’s opening a new thing there or something. Wants her to develop the desserts.”
“And?” Lori raised her eyebrows, prodding for more information.
“Why are you interested all of a sudden?” I asked, my hackles rising. “I apologized for the other week. I didn’t mean to drag you back here with a vendetta.”
“It’s not a vendetta,” she retorted. “This is going to sound like complete and utter bullshit, but I saw something in you the other day. You’ve changed, Storm. You might be going about it the wrong way, but you care about other people now. That’s a huge deal considering who you used to be.” She turned to face me and smiled. She actually fucking smiled after giving me that awful excuse for a compliment. “I never used to think it was possible. That people could change the core of who they were. I thought you would be a dick for eternity, but deep down, you’re not. You need to stop all this bravado and just be that guy.”
My scowl deepened. I was beginning to understand one thing about myself. I didn’t like taking criticism.
“Your Callie seems like a smart woman,” she went on. “I doubt she would be with you if she couldn’t see over all the walls labeled ‘bastard’ that you’ve put up.”
“Thanks,” I drawled, raising my beer in a mock salute.
“If you don’t want her to go to Amsterdam, then tell her.”
“It’s make or break,” I muttered.
“Seems simple to me,” Lori declared.
“Yeah? Enlighten me.”
