Page 82 of Working for the Mob

My reddened face betrayed me.

“The stockroom.”

“Wow. What was it like?” she asked.

“It was …” I bit my lip and recalled Art’s total control over my body––the torture of holding me at the brink of an orgasm, and not pushing me over the threshold. “… It was nice.”

Lucy’s third squeal made my eardrums throb.

“Does this mean you’re dating now?” she asked.

“No,” I said immediately. From Lucy’s expression, I knew I said it too fast. Were we dating? He bought me things. Drove me around town. We made love. Twice. And most important of all, he showed up when I needed him. But there was the dark side to him. The side that thought he was too dangerous for me. Even though I just smuggled ten pounds of deli meat out from under the Valuncias’ noses. I shuddered at the memory.

“No,” I said, more firmly. “We’re not.”

Lucy’s disappointment lasted only a second before she recovered with a glint in her eyes. “I’m going to go smell the stockroom.”

The next couple days were some of the hardest days in Lannington. They were also the most rewarding. Art ensured that the meat supplier made it to Miss Dunham’s, supplying us with all the deli meat we needed.

I fell into a groove. I would run the front in the morning while Lucy backed in the back. Once she was done she’d help me run the register and clean tables. In addition to the scones, she baked croissants as well.

Henry stopped by several times a day. Whether it was for coffee, for a sandwich, or if he was running an errand for Art, he always had a reason to stop by the café. And he never missed a chance to talk to Lucy.

The café had begun to run smoothly––until it didn’t.

“How can I help?” I asked a well-dressed woman I had never met. Between her clothes and her upturned nose, I imagined she didn’t hear the word ‘no’ very often.

“I’d like a coffee and a scone please,” she said, addressing the empty air beside me.

I swallowed my annoyance at her––this was why Lucy ran the register. She wouldn’t take this woman’s arrogance as a slight. But Lucy was in the middle of throwing another batch of scones in the oven.

“Coming right up!” I said. “You’re not from here, are you?”

“Definitely not,” she said, and threw me a reproachful look. “I drove here from Turnersville this morning. But I heard that the scones are simply divine. They better not disappoint.”

They won’t.

“I’ll let you know once they’re ready,” I said, with a false smile and the haughty crone took a seat by the counter.

I attempted to pour her coffee, but only a couple sips and dregs made it into the cup. The uppity bitch will just have to wait a couple mins for her caffeine fix. I filled up the coffee pot with more water and fresh grounds, but once I hit the ‘on’ button, sparks shot out of the top of the contraption. I yelped as the pot emitted a black smoke and a burning smell filled the room.

Schnitzel.

I wished the useless espresso machine would pop alive, but it simply gleamed smugly at me. How was I going to make enough coffee for the rest of the morning without a coffee maker?

“Lucy, the coffee maker broke. I need to run to the supermarket to pick up some cheesecloth,” I said, aware of the well-dressed woman’s eyes following me suspiciously. “Can you run the register?”

“I’ll be up there in just a sec,” Lucy called from the back.

I grabbed my purse, rounded the counter, and froze as the last person I wanted to see walked through the door.

My dad’s hazel eyes quickly found me with my oops-crapped-my-pants expression, and a disappointed crease furrowed between his brows. He beelined toward me while hundreds of scenarios ran through my head of how to avoid the impending conversation.

I could run. Both the back door and the front door still worked. I could also faint right here. I felt close enough that I wouldn’t even have to act it out. I could say I had amnesia––I read it was a common occurrence after the Great War. Or I could pretend I had an evil twin sister … only my dad was there for the birth and knew only one baby came out.

My options ran out as my dad approached and I gripped the counter to support myself. Why did he have to show up here? Where I worked? Now?

A mixture of shame and guilt slithered through my intestines. The last time I saw him, I made a fool of myself and ruined the future he had planned for me.

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