Page 11 of Sinful Promise
With a roll of her eyes and a smiling shake of her head, Minka heads into the hall and waits as Aubree passes. Then she closes the door and locks me out of her thoughts. Her mind. Her common fucking sense on passing a case to someone else, when, ifsheran it, she could make damn sure she’s not the one fingered for the crime.
“Fuck.”
“I mean, it’s always nice to work with her.” Oblivious to the thoughts sprinting through my brain, Fletch only sniggers. “But you’re acting like her rejection is gonna break your heart.”
Walking to the sink and setting his mug inside, he turns back to face me with a smile. “Codependence is unattractive, Arch.” Then he claps his hands together and starts toward the door. “Let’s go see this asshole while he’s still warm.”
MINKA
Iarrive at my city-view, glass-walled office inside the George Stanley building before eight o’clock. Early, really. Earlier than the nine o’clock shift change between night staff and day.
But despite the lack of people rushing through, I still walk into chaos.
“Chief Mayet.” Doctor Raquel, our senior toxicologist, charges in before I set my briefcase down. Before my ass even has the pleasure of touching my chair. “I’m so glad you’re back. I believe you were aware of the cases Doctor Flynn had on deck? She sent samples to the lab last week and backed up our system into overload.”
“Uh…” I look to Aubree, who wanders in with her head turned toward the city, like she’s not listening to my conversation. Though, her nod assures me she is.
“Sure.” I bring my gaze back to Raquel. “Flynn had three cases on deck last time I checked in. Two were cut and dry, the third ended up becoming your entire workload. What about it?”
“Well…” She circles the single visitor chair and plops her jean-clad backside down. “This extra work has highlighted our need for more staff in the lab. I talked to you about this—”
“No.” I take my phone out of my briefcase and toss the device into my top desk drawer before setting the briefcase itself on the floor and settling my butt onto my chair. Finally. The last in the room to sit. “Flynn’s case is not the norm, and your team working overtimeonceisn’t enough to hire a whole extra tech.”
“But, Chief—”
I shake my head and reach forward to turn on my computer monitor. “Not this quarter. I trust your judgment, Raquel, and I know you desperately need the help, but I can’t pull money out of my asshole—and I just got you a bunch of new equipment.
“Bring me stats,” I press when she goes to argue. “I want to see your average hours worked, cases solved, sample processing time. I want an analysis of each of your team members so we can assess who is pulling their weight, and who’s riding everyone else’s coattails. If I find everyone is working to capacity and still your workload is too heavy, we can discuss acquiring more staff.”
I glance to my door as Seraphina, the always sharply dressed, perfectly coifed, George Stanley public relations face, wanders in with a tray of to-go coffees.
Pleased, knowing I have caffeine coming my way, I bring my gaze back to Raquel. “I’m not trying to be a tyrant. But staff cost money, and money, I don’t have. To ask for more on our behalf, I need data. So get me the analysis.”
“Yeah.” She pushes up from her chair. “Because I have time to run those numbers.”
Spinning away and grabbing one of the four cups from Seraphina’s tray, she makes her way to the door.
“I still like you, Mayet.” Swinging the door wide, Raquel makes a show of her unhappiness. “But I’m mad.”
“Yeah?” I sit back and pretend dread doesn’t boil low in my stomach. “Ditto. I’ll come find you later.”
As the door swings shut and four becomes three, I come back to study Seraphina’s salon-styled hair, and feel less confident about my self-made blowout. “Please tell me one of those coffees is mine.”
“It is.” She grabs a cup from the tray and sets it on my desk before turning to Aubree and offering the next. “I paid for them using the company card, so…” She takes the remaining cup for herself. “Don’t ask me for data analysis on caffeine consumption this week.” Sitting with obnoxiously perfect posture, she crosses her ankles and taps her cup lid with manicured nails.
Silence hangs for a long beat, as traffic outside hums in the air, and a horn from some ship off the marina lets dockworkers know it’s arriving—or leaving—and Aubree sits on the back of my visitor couch, her feet on the cushions, and smugly sips her coffee.
She doesn’t mind awkward silence. And I can’t say it’s ever bothered me either.
So I let it hang, and wait for Fifi to break.
“Fine!” She switches ankles and shows nerves, when she so rarely does. “I’m back, and no, I don’t want to talk about my mom.”
“Okay.” I slouch in my chair.Is Archer already on scene with Fentone? Is Fletcher making jokes? Or worse, pointing out that I was asking him for Fentone’s rap sheet only a week ago?“We’re not talking about your mom,” I assure her. “What would you like to talk about?”
“Work.” She sips her coffee like it’s a chore and not a luxury. “I want things to go back to normal.”
“So… let’s let things be normal.” But slowly, I look the woman up and down. “You sitting in my office isn’t normal, Fifi. Neither is bringing us coffee. So that kinda implies you have a reason for being here.”
