Page 53 of Smooth Sailing

“Dad withdrew as representation of a mob boss,” I said.

“Yeah, you told me. Let’s get inside.”

“No, Hugger, I mean…this guy.” I shook my head. “He’s not right. Is this going to piss him off? Is my dad in danger?”

Hugger had put on his sunglasses (mirrored aviators—yes, they looked insanely good on him) and a lot of his face was covered in whiskers.

I still saw the tightness enter it.

Oh my God.

I put a hand to his chest and pushed close. “He had another firm he worked with. Babic. They dropped him after he was arrested for what he did to Suzette. I’m not a rabid news hound, but I haven’t heard of a local attorney meeting an untimely death. So maybe he won’t call a hit out on my dad, or whatever guys like him do.”

“Can we go inside, baby?” he asked.

We could.

We could do anything he asked if he ended it in that sweet “baby.”

I tugged his hand again and led him to the door.

He took the keys from me, unlocked it and pulled us inside.

He locked the door behind us and guided me to the room that held my personal work studio, one of only two, since it was only me and Annie who worked there.

He sat me down at my stool in front of the painting I was working on. He then dragged the chair he’d been sitting in over to my stool. He folded into it, bent forward so his elbows were to his knees, the entire time his eyes were on me.

Once in position, he ordered, “Tell me.”

“We…like I mentioned, we had a falling out. It was bad. I froze him out. When he learned Suzette was with me, he asked to talk to me. I kinda sprung myself on him by showing at his office when he wasn’t expecting me. It went…well, it went someplace I would never have guessed it’d go. In his way, he made it obvious he missed me. That my freezing him out was rough on him. That he…he wanted to talk. It seemed like he wanted to mend fences.”

“Okay.”

“I told him the only way I’d consider that is if he dropped Babic as a client.”

Hugger said nothing.

“This happened less than twenty-four hours ago, Hugger,” I finished.

He drew in a big breath, sat back, and let it out.

“Well, goddamn,” he whispered.

“That about covers it,” I replied.

“What are you gonna do?”

“I think I need to have dinner with him.”

“I don’t know the history, babe. But seems to me he’s extended one helluvan olive branch.”

I nodded.

“Should I…do you think I should call him back?” I asked.

“No,” he said decisively. “You should text him. Say you’re processing shit. Give him something to go on about the gesture he’s made. And let him know you’re thinking about that dinner.”

This was good advice.

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