Page 38 of Blackmail
“LeAnne, when will you and I get married and run away together?” I ask when she refills my OJ.
“Watch yourself, Simon. I’m the one who supplies your sourdough toast, after all.” She walks around the table to where Adam and Troy are sword fighting with their breadsticks like a couple of idiots. She grabs the back of Troy’s man bun and yanks hard enough to make him yelp. “And you two. Knock it off before I put you both in high chairs since you act like toddlers.”
They drop the breadsticks like good little boys, but then, as she walks away, I notice one of Adam’s tattooed arms coming up to rub Troy’s back, almost in a comforting gesture. I can never quite tell if those two are just close or if there’s something more. I’ve never so much as seen them kiss. And until recently, Adam had a girlfriend. It’s just a vibe I get.
“Hey.” I clear my throat and turn to Michael. He’s the only one of us with brains in this entire operation. “Let’s say someone needed you to testify about a client or a former client. I know Brennan would kick our asses for breaking confidentiality, but do you think there’s any way around that?”
“It would depend,” Michael says slowly. “You’d be putting yourself at risk, not just risking Brennan’s anger. The lawyers or law enforcement could dig into who you are and what you do. You’d risk getting arrested.”
“Yeah. You’re right. Should’ve thought of that.”
Okay, I did think of it. It’s one of the reasons I told Sebastian no right off the bat. Still, it’s been humming at the back of my brain all morning. I keep trying to think of something I could do to help with his divorce.
The more I think about it, the more I realize I want to help him. And not because him getting divorced might pave the way for other things.
He helped out with Christian yesterday. It’d be nice to be able to return the favor. That’s all.
Nico’s at the far end of the table next to PJ, and as I scan the room, I catch him giving me the kind of shit-eating grin that says “I know what you did last night.”
Or maybe I’m just being paranoid.
“What the fuck is your problem?” I give him my best glare. It always works with my assisted living patients. Not with a gangly nineteen-year-old tattoos-up-to-his-neck fuckboy, though.
“I know what you did last night,” he sings.
Dammit.
“You don’t know shit. Shut up and eat your waffles.”
Next to Nico is one of our newbies. He's the only one not looking at me like my tired ass is the funniest thing ever. Ravi’s got a clean cut, glasses, and a backpack over his chair. The kid looks as if he got lost on the way to the study group and accidentally joined a group of sex workers for brunch. The fact that he’s got his hand raised to ask a question isn’t helping him.
Privately, I’m not sure how long he'll last. Not sure he has the thick skin needed to make it in this business.
I raise my eyebrow at Ravi, who’s still got his hand up. “You know you’re not in school, right?”
He shrugs. “I don’t like shouting over people.”
“Learn to, kid. The quiet ones don’t last long in our world.”
I ought to know. I used to be one.
“Right. Well. I just wanted to know if you’re okay and everything? I mean, it’s just that it looks like someone cornered you in an alley and beat you with a sock full of rocks.”
That’s an oddly specific scenario.
Dead silence. Everybody at the table turns to stare right at me.
Then chaos erupts. Shouts of “Boom!” and “Shiiiiiit! Simon!” and God knows what else because I’m too busy wishing I’d been smart enough to wear long sleeves to listen.
“Okay, wait.” Michael’s deep voice breaks through the noise. “You didn’t look like that when we saw you yesterday.”
That he knows of. At the time, most of the marks were covered by my clothes. Then Simon’s bruising grip had wandered all over me in the car, making me look much worse.
“And there was no group party last night.”
I glare at Michael. “How would you know? You never go to them anyway.”
“Brennan always puts a call out on the group text. There wasn’t one.”
