Page 15 of Remy

“Good morning, Ally.” I force a smile as she glances up from her computer.

“Morning,” she beams, her enthusiastic expression quickly fading. “Are you looking for Hugo?”

“Yeah. I?—”

“Did someone say my name?” The man of the moment walks out from the admin storeroom behind Allison’s desk holding a stack of Alexandra’s service booklets. “Look who crawled out of her dungeon to grace us with her presence.”

Funny joke from someone about to take pole position on the unemployment line, you horse’s ass.

“Morning, Hugo.” I divert my path toward my father’s closed office door. “Can you please follow me?”

He frowns. “Why?”

“There’s something we need to discuss.” I keep walking, not stopping until my fingers grip the door handle. “It shouldn’t take long.”

“No thanks. The last time I was requested in your father’s office I got accused of shit I didn’t do.”

I fight not to react to his unprofessionalism. He shouldn’t curse so loud in case grieving families are on the premises. Not only that, but the so-called shit was true. He confessed. Maybe not to me, but it all came out in the end.

“It’s a private matter.” I force calm and swing my father’s door open.

“I don’t care if it’s private.” Hugo dumps Alexandra’s booklets on Allison’s desk. “You can speak to me out here.”

My cheeks flame hot. “That would be unprofession?—”

“Just spit it out, Olivia. Whatever you want to accuse me of, you can do it in front of an audience.”

Wow. He really is holding a grudge. Two-fisted grip and all.

“Did you get up on the wrong side of the bed?” Allison mutters.

“No,” he snaps. “I just hear her judgment loud and clear when I’ve done absolutely nothing wrong. I won’t take that bullshit again.”

I drag in a deep breath, wishing I could crawl back into my death sanctuary where conversations are one-sided and the only people I have to deal with lack a pulse.

“Fine.” I stand my ground, square my shoulders, and hold his gaze. “And I’m glad you brought up last time because what I need to discuss seems to be an extension of the issues that arose back then.”

He chokes on a cough. “I didn’t do anything back then.”

“Come on, man, you admitted it two weeks later at that nightclub.” Allison rolls her eyes. “You told me you used the retort on your Labrador after she passed.”

“It was a joke,” he says. “A drunk one at that. How was I to know you were still holding me accountable for something I didn’t even do?”

He did it.

I know he did.

The retort had been used. And although he’d done a decent job sweeping out the tiny bone fragments after the cremation of his goddamn canine, his standard of cleaning wasn’t as high as mine or my father’s, and we’re the only two allowed to use the equipment.

“You then went on to slur about how you should start a pet cremation side-hustle,” Allison drawls.

“It was a fucking joke,” he repeats.

“I’m not here to rehash the past.” I clasp my hands in front of me, my palms sweating. “What I do want to speak about is why the cremator was warm again this morning.”

“Warm?” He glares. “You’re accusing me of the exact same shit? Really?”

“You did a pickup last night. You were the only one that came into the building after we closed.”

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