Page 25 of Big Boss
I pull out my phone and stare accusatorily at Tate’s number. I can’t exactly text him. Tate never even checks his texts as far as I can tell.
Nope. This is another situation I’m going to have to handle on my own. I square up my shoulders and head toward the front desk.
The woman at the desk looks up from a fashion magazine and gives me the most bored stare she can possibly manage. Or maybe her face just looks that way. It’s hard to tell sometimes.
I force my face into that careful, practiced look that is supposed to be me, only friendly, and give her a tiny smile. I’m trying to look and act natural, but sometimes it’s such a struggle, especially when it’s a stranger and a situation that makes me uncomfortable.
“Can I help you?” she finally manages. Her voice is as sharp as an entire kitchen full of knives. She can definitely tell that I don’t belong here.
But well, fuck that. “I’m here to make a reservation for a full makeover, and I also need my hair styled.” I slap Tate’s fancy credit card on the marble countertop between us and watch her eyes widen.
She lets her gaze drift to me again, staring at me like she’s trying to solve a puzzle.
“And you didn’t call for an appointment?” She smiles, thin and brittle, because she knows I didn’t.
I force a smile in return and give her a purposefully vacant look. “Tate said it wouldn’t be a problem, that you’d make time for me.”
Her fingers snap out and grab his credit card and flip it over, scanning his lazy scrawled signature.
Her long fingernails trace along the line of her mouth. “Give me just a moment. Let me see what we can do. And who did you say you are?”
My mouth goes dry, but I force the words out. “I’m his girlfriend. Erica. Erica Ridley.”
Her eyes widen and her lips squinch into a little pinched shape. “I see. Wait here for a moment.”
She turns and disappears into the back of the day spa, leaving me with a ten ton weight of anxiety churning in my stomach.
I have a really bad feeling about this. That little voice inside is screaming at me that I definitely should have called my boss and at least warned him before I pretended like I was his girlfriend in public.
10
Tate
I stareat the phone resting in my palm accusatorily, but it remains still and blank. Alarm bells are blaring in my skull, and a frisson of worry winds its way up my spine.
The police? But I know that Erica has my credit card, so why would anyone else be using it? And at a spa nonetheless?
The reasonable explanation is that Erica is at the day spa, but if so, then why are the police calling me about my credit card being stolen?
Maybe I should call Erica and see what’s going on.
And I know she told me not to come with her, but I think she was wrong. Especially given the phone call I just received.
“I know it’s stupid, but I’d better go,” I mutter.
The men around the table stare at me with expressions ranging from surprise—Jackson— to pity—Ethan—to flat out mockery—Sebastian). Even Katy is staring at me like I’ve betrayed her somehow, and she’s just a little kid.
“Don’t be stupid,” says Sebastian, our resident terrible human being. I wince.
“Nobody said that I was stupid.” I shove my phone in my back pocket.
Sebastian nods. “I know nobody else said those words, but you literally just did. Out loud. And if you’re already telling on yourself like that, you’ve got problems.”
Jackson frowns. “You can say that again.”
Sebastian lets out a cold, bitter laugh. “Donovan Tate is a man with problems. And he’s making most of them all by himself.”
I recoil from the venom laced in those words, even as I recognize them for what they are. This is the same inner monologue I’ve been struggling with for months now.
