Page 73 of Ugly Duckling
“What kind of bad feeling?” I wondered.
He scrubbed at his face. “The kind where I think that he’s responsible for some of the leaked information to the Combs.”
My mouth dropped open, and even in the dark, he saw.
“Yeah,” he grumbled. “I know. I wouldn’t have believed it, but today while I was doing his job, I had a lot of time on my hands to do some thinking. And the only person who had any idea of how late I picked Lottie up, besides myself, was him. I remember for a fact that no one else was around, and the old guy they have following me around is easy to spot. He drives a Cyber Truck, for Christ’s sake. He’s hard to miss. So I know that he wasn’t there that day.”
“Shit.” I sighed. “What else makes you think this?”
“He got a brand-new truck last month, and I know that he wasn’t planning on getting a new one any time soon because he was in the hole like twenty-eight grand on the one he was driving. His ex-wife likes new vehicles, so he just got her one whenever. But he said that he couldn’t do it anymore after the last one because they were too far upside down. He needed to pay this one down before he could get a new one. That was why they divorced. Over a new car. Then all of a sudden, he has a new one?”
I hated this for him.
“Shit.”
“Shit’s right,” he mumbled. “His ex-wife is a huge pain in the ass. I’m talking a massive, screeching harpy of a woman. I had to take away Yates’s company phone because his ex-wife was using it as her own personal hotline. Half the time, Yates wouldn’t even have it if he was at work. She came up here raving and ranting to me, accusing me of not giving him a phone because she was using it when he ‘wasn’t.’ Yates had to physically carry her out of the school we were in at the time. He was so embarrassed. Yet, he stayed with her because he loved her—still does, actually. And I think that if someone, like the Combs, gave him the opportunity to make easy money like that, he’d take them up on it.” He sighed and rolled over onto his back, staring at the ceiling. “Then he lied about having a death in the family. His father or something. And I know Yates doesn’t have any family left. They’re all gone. Even his wife doesn’t have any family members left.”
“Dammit.” I poked him in the chest. “What are you going to do about it?”
“Call him to a meeting the next time that I’m with him and confront him,” he admitted as he caught my hand in between both of his and started to slowly massage my palm. “Which is going to really fucking suck, because I hate confronting Yates. It’s like kicking a puppy. He gets yelled at so much by his ex-wife that he can’t stand confrontation. Plus, he’s one of my best employees.”
“But is he one of your best employees? Or is he just a friend that took advantage of your kindness?” I challenged him.
He hit a particularly sore spot on my thumb, and I groaned.
“You have a knot here,” he said as he changed the subject.
“Sadly, that’s pretty normal for me. My hands cramp all the time when I give manicures,” I explained. “It’s like my body’s way of telling me that painting nails isn’t the best thing for me.”
“How long have you been doing it again?” he asked.
The way he sounded so genuinely curious had me answering honestly.
“Mom and Dad had no idea just how bad it was for me at school,” I said quietly. “So I got a job really early on, because I wanted to get into a work program so I didn’t have to stay so long at school. I got a job at the oldest nail salon in town, too, because I knew that none of the students would be caught dead there. I was nearly seventeen when I got the job.”
“I actually think that I know the one you’re talking about,” he said as he yawned. “Was it the one behind Super One? The one that always looks closed down?”
“That’s the one,” I confirmed. “You have no idea how busy it gets. There are so many regulars there, and they hate change. They wouldn’t be caught dead at the newer one across town.”
“Is this what you want to do with the rest of your life?” he asked. “What you’re doing?”
“Maybe, maybe not. I don’t know,” I admitted. “But it’s something for now.”
“How do you feel about filing?” he teased. “Or answering phones?”
I slipped one hand out of his grasp and handed him the other.
He took over without another word before I replied with, “Hate and loathe.”
He groaned. “What is it going to take to find someone who doesn’t mind talking on the phone all day?”
“A birth of a new generation that doesn’t think talking on the phone is the worst thing in the world,” I teased.
“It sucks so bad.” He started to pull on my fingers, popping the joints.
“I heard popping your fingers was bad for you,” I said as he popped my thumb.
The sharp crack of my joint releasing had a quick smirk coming over his face.
