Page 5 of Under My Skin
“That’s what the guy said!” I hiss back in defense as I gesture toward the staircase behind me. “What am I supposed to do?”
She gives me a dubious look that tells me she knowsexactlywhat I’m supposed to do, and whatever it is, I haven’t done it.
As soon as I raise my eyebrows for a little help, she gently pushes past me. Her careful, steady steps up to the unfinished apartment manage to still sound ominous on the old wooden floors. Craning my head back, I try to listen, but she keeps her voice low as she talks to Hal.
Whatever she says, Hal doesn’t answer right away. It isn’t until I hear him start with “Well, sweetheart,” that I suck in air through my teeth and stop trying to eavesdrop. Toni doesn’t take well to anyone calling her pet names. I saw that wrath unleashed when shefirst started working here and Troy made the mistake of calling her “baby.”
I catch sight of the large digital clock on the wall and curse under my breath. My next client is due any minute, and I need to reschedule their appointment. Pulling out my phone, I ignore the new text from Simon and quickly check my schedule before shooting my client a text explaining the situation.
By the time I’m done, the sound of slightly happier footsteps greets me from down the stairs.
“He’ll be done by tomorrow morning.”
My mouth falls open, and I glance back at the staircase behind her. “How did you—What did you . . .”
She raises a sharp brow. “I reminded him that we’re running a business, and if he wants to keep his, he needs to get us up and running by tomorrow morning.”
She pushes past me, and I follow her onto the floor. “I mean, that’s what I did. More or less.” The look she gives me over her shoulder tells me she isn’t buying it, so I add, “Thank you.”
Toni grins before stopping at her station to pack up for the day, and I make my way to the front to tell the other guys we’re closing early.
Chapter Three
LUCY
It has takenme twenty-four hours to come to terms with my parents separating, and not because either one of them cared to call. Nope. Still no word from Mom or Dad to break the news, but I was able to confirm the house is listed on Zillow . . . so Simon is at least being honest about that much.
The coffee shop around me bustles with people coming and going, but all I can do is stare at the photo of my childhood bedroom, zoomed out with some type of lens to make it look twice as big. The walls are still a dark shade of purple from my rebellious teenage years. I’m surprised the realtor didn’t tell them to paint it before the photos were taken. They could probably get more for the house if they put a little into it.
But maybe it’s not about the money.
Maybe it’s about getting away from each other as quickly as possible.
My stomach twists, but my phone buzzing on the table snaps me from my thoughts. Allison’s name shines in large letters across the screen, and I slip my noise canceling headphones around my neck before answering. I told her the news last night. Her only advice was to call my parents, but I can’t.
Making sure to keep my voice low, I say, “Hey, what’s up?”
“Where are you?” she immediately says, and I have a split second of panic like maybe I had made plans and forgotten about them.
“Uh . . . at Button’s Café. Why?”
“Really?”
“Yes?”
“Okay, see you in a minute.” She hangs up before I have the chance to respond, and I’m left staring at my phone.
No more than a minute later, Allison comes sweeping into the coffee shop and takes the seat across from me. “Why aren’t you home?”
I take a sip of my dirty chai and grin. “Well, hello to you, too.” I miss her. I still see her at least twice a week for one reason or another, but it’s not the same as living with her. She became the sister I never knew I needed. “I came here to get some work done. Where were you that you got here so quickly?”
She gives a careless wave of her hand, her curly black hair swaying at her shoulders. “I had to run to the florist after work. One of our clients has her wedding this weekend and suddenly she wants pink instead of white.”
“And I’m assuming you sorted it out?” One of the reasons Allison cared so much about her wedding, and had it planned down to every tiny detail, is because it’s her job to make weddings perfect. She used to do a variety of events, but now it’s all weddings, all the time.
“I did,” she says happily. “And as long as the bride doesn’t change her mind about anything else for the next twenty-four hours, we should be able to pull it all off without a hitch.” She knocks on the wood tabletop not to jinx it before unzipping her jacket. “Why are you here anyway? You hate working in coffee shops.”
I grimace. “I know.”
