Page 55 of Midnights
Thatdefinitelygets my attention.
I exhale slowly. “Dead?”
Cam shakes his head. “Not confirmed. But the client’s panicking.”
“Find out who the last person to have eyes on him was?”
Cam taps his screen a few times, his expression unreadable. “Still digging, but from what I’ve got, someone lost track of him two nights ago.”
Which is a polite way of saying he’s probably dead.
This is why I don’t have time for distractions. Because there’s too many people needing their hand held as it is.
I glance toward the counter where Raven is still chatting with the shopkeeper, completely oblivious. She leans on the counter, her body relaxed, like they’ve known each other for years.
The shopkeeper’s face softens, clearly charmed by her. She tilts her head, listening to whatever story he's telling her. How she can be so open andengaging with complete strangers is beyond me, but it’s also exactly why I can’t look away.
She’s the kind of person who draws people in without even trying and that’s dangerous in more ways than one. I run my hand down my face, exhaling slowly before refocusing. Now's not the time.
We’ve been walking around long enough that I know they’ve got to be hungry. What they don’t know is that we’re heading to a restaurant that happens to be Cam’s pride and joy.
He’s been obsessed with cooking for as long as I've known him. And, annoyingly, he’s damn good at it too. I host most of my work events here and people never shut up about the food. For good reason. He loves making the occasional appearance in the kitchen when he’s bored, just to shake things up. The staff knows we’re coming tonight and they’ve been given strict ordersnot to be weird. His words.
This place was Cam’s first big project, his baby, and it’s done better than even he expected. Not that I’m remotely surprised. He’s got a habit of turning things to gold, whether he means to or not.
As we round the corner, I slow the car to a stop in front of the restaurant.
“Alright, we’re here,” Cam announces, pushing his door open.
“ThankGod, I’m starving,” Raven exclaims, her voice dripping with dramatic desperation.
“SAME!” Rachel groans, clutching her stomach. “I was about to eat the next cow we passed.”
Raven gasps like Rachel just suggested treason. “Oh my God, we can’t be friends.NottheHighland cows!”
Her eyes are wide and she has her hand over her heart like this is a personal betrayal. The look on her face is giving me and instant fucking boner. A girl getting defensive over cows should not be this hot. And yet, here I am. Hard as a rock.
We step inside and Cam leads us to a round corner booth in the back. The waitress barely sets the menu’s down before Rachel and Raven dive in like their lives depend on it.
Rachel’s eyes flick across the menu, muttering under her breath about needing at least five things to truly experience the place.
Meanwhile, Raven looks like she’s staring down a life-or-death decision. Turns out, she’s terrified of trying new food.
Cam isnothaving it. He’s throwing out recommendations like a damn salesman. Raven, meanwhile, is staring at him like he’s asking her to drink poison.
“ —you made me try coffee that one day for breakfast, remember?” She accuses, eyes narrowing in betrayal. “It tasted like burnt toast. You guys all need to get your tongues checked, ‘cause that stuff isnasty!”
I can’t stop myself. “If your coffee tasted like burnt toast, then you didn’t have the right kind.”
Her eyes snap to me, all fire and defiance, like she’s debating whether to be polite or double down just to be difficult. I swear, if she chooses to let the brat out, I’m going to have a real fucking problem keeping my self-control intact.
She leans forward, resting her elbows on the table. “There’s nothing you can do to convince me to drink coffee. Sorry, butyuck.” She scrunches her nose in disgust, looking way too adorable for someone slandering one of life’s greatest necessities.
Cam tries to cut in, but she’s already on a roll. “So no, Cam, I willnotbe trying haggis.” Her tone is final and stubborn as hell. “I promise, I believe you that it's the chef's specialty, but I'll just stick with my salad, thanks.”
She folds her arms, leaning back against the booth and meets my gaze with the kind of determination that makes me itch to mess with her.
I shift slightly so my shoulder brushes against hers, keeping my voice low, like I’m making an offer she can’t refuse.
