by Caitie Quinn
“She didn’t deny the deal.” Detective Markson was on his feet now.
“She didn’t take the money. No money, no clear defined service, no action…no arrest. I’m sorry, I’m just a beat cop, but I vaguely remember in college that being called something like entrapment…or was it wrongful arrest? There’s just so many things going on here I’m confused about what the real issue is.”
Max was leaning against the bars now, doing that cocky pose he did that typically was aimed at me and ticked me off. I let my hand curl around the bar he leaned against, skimming across his lower back and taking comfort from the heat radiating off him. He shifted, pressing against it. I felt his confidence seep into me and set my trust in it. Max was many things. One of those was a man I was beginning to set my complete trust in.
Outside my cell, the three men faced off. Max looking cocky, Detective Vernane looking like he was going to punch Max, the boss looking as if he wanted fire both of them and quit.
And they were the ones in charge of my future. I’d somehow managed to hand my fate over to a man—well, three men—again.
TWENTY-NINE
I walked out of the station and down the front steps, trying to get my bearings on where I was and how I was supposed to get back to my new home. Beside me, Max stood, my tote over his shoulder, watching me.
I was pretty much done for the night—maybe the whole week. There was nothing more lowering than being arrested for something you didn’t do. Especially prostitution. Why couldn’t I have been arrested for corporate espionage or recklessly parachuting off a skyscraper or something cool?
“Okay. Well. Thanks. I really appreciate your help.” I reached for my bag, desperately needing to make a quick escape. More embarrassed than I’d been in my entire life. I had no idea how I was going to face him after this. I couldn’t even face him now. I could feel the heat climbing up my neck and hoped I didn’t look splotchy under the horrible 1940’s lights framing the station’s doors.
“Where are you going?”
“Home.”
Max just looked at me as if he’d expected something else, or something more. But, I wasn’t sure what to say. I just knew I was completely freaked out and looking at him made me want to crawl into his arms and hide my face in his chest and hope he wouldn’t brush me off him like dryer lint.
And, it was too late. I knew it was too late. He’d told Jenna he had no interest in dating someone like me, someone who could end up in jail at any minute.
And now, I’d put him on the spot. Max would never have left me in there. Who knows what they’d do to him now. The kitten posters everywhere would look like nothing when they were done with him if this turned into an Officer Darby is Dating a Hooker thing. Especially since the captain guy made it clear he missed #OfficerMax and had pointedly asked when Jenna would be doing another one.
Max just looked at me, waiting for who knows what, before shaking his head and handing me my belongings.
“You know what, Kasey? You’re on your own.”
Um…okay? What?
I just looked at him trying to figure out what that meant.
“I don’t need this. I don’t need to be responsible for someone I’m not even responsible for. You aren’t my fiancée or girlfriend. You’re just this girl who can’t manage to stay out of trouble and the truth is, that’s your problem.”
I dropped my eyes shut trying to figure out what that even meant. I hadn’t asked him for anything. I never did. When I got tossed in the slammer—words I never thought I’d say—I hadn’t called Max. I hadn’t wanted to tick him off or make him think I was only calling because of what he could do for me.
Maybe I was naive, but I thought someone would listen to me. I thought at some point the officer would realize he’d made a horrible mistake.
Also, I thought telling people I was in jail would be embarrassing, so skipping that step would have been A+.
“You know what?” I grabbed my bag, yanking it down his arm and practically dislocating it. “I didn’t ask for your help. I’ve never asked for your help. I just want to do my own thing but Mr. I Know Best likes to jump in and fix things to exactly how they should be. You go do your own thing. Don’t worry about me. No one thinks I’m your responsibility but you.”
I stormed down the station’s stairs, his voice stopping me before I reached the sidewalk. “You didn’t call me!”
I spun around, not sure what I was going to say or how I was going to justify that, but no. I didn’t call him.
“I didn’t…” How was I going to explain this?
Max marched down the stairs, stopping so close I could feel the heat of him.
“You were arrested and were sitting in a freaking holding tank in my precinct and you didn’t call me.”
I looked up at him, the distance too close and said the only thing that came to mind. “I didn’t know it was your precinct.”
If he’d been angry before, that was nothing like the rage that washed over him then, drawing his brows down and pushing the red so far up his neck it looked like it was choking him.
“And, I mean, they hadn’t let me make my call yet.”
It was clear he didn’t believe I was going to call him. Which was the truth so what could I say?
“Are you serious?” Max stepped back and turned, storming away before returning just as angry. “That’s what mattered? That you didn’t know if I worked there or not? You were in jail. You have a cop at your freaking beck and call and you just sit there wondering who to call.”
“I didn’t think you were at my beck and call.” I seemed to keep picking the thing most likely to make him angrier, because he actually flung his arms wide when I said that.
“You didn’t call anyone.” His voice carried over the nearly empty parking lot and echoed back to us. “You just sat there, in jail, not using your call. You’re a smart girl. You know you could have demanded it. Or just told them to call me. But no. Nope. You just sat there. Doing it Kasey’s way. Not letting anyone in.”
I glanced away, worn out just from looking at all the anger rolling off of him on top of the really cruddy evening I’d had. The angry beat of his work shoes pounding up the stairs and the door being slammed behind me.
THIRTY
“I’m not going to lie. I’m beginning to think you’re an idiot.” Jayne shushed me as the stilted GPS voice in the background told her to turn right.
“I know. I have no idea what happened. I was standing there thinking Max was a guy worth taking a chance on, and then there was all this yelling and storming off.”
I heard the voice tell her she was point-two miles from her destination. I stood and watched for her little beater-box car roll down my street. She pulled past the line of high-end SUVs and waved at me as she looked for a spot to pull in. I trotted down the front steps and pulled the lawn chair I’d borrowed out of the space I’d been holding for her. Typically, I hated that person. But I wasn’t sure how much stuff she’d brought with her, so I figured we’d need to be close knowing her over-packing habit.
As she pulled in, I glanced in the car and shuddered just a bit. Her habit was getting worse. Jayne threw the car in park and hopped out, rushing around to give me a hug.
“Hey, girl making even more horrible decisions than normal!” Typical Jayne greeting.
“Hey, girl who seemed to bring everything she owned. What’s up with that?” I pulled her onto the sidewalk, always a little afraid the local drivers wouldn’t stop for human bodies, even in my quaint little neighborhood.
“Yeah, so. Surprise!” She glanced at the car, its back seat stuffed to the point of full. “I’m moving here!”
“Best news ever!” I flung my arms around her, pretty sure my life just got better by four. “You’re moving here. This is nuts. You can’t just move here. How are you moving here?”
“Well, I thought about what you said about starting your own business and all the work you were doing and how you were meeting people here and thoug
ht, I don’t want to miss out on all that.”
“You don’t have to move here to be part of my life.” That seemed extreme even to me.
“No. I know. But,” She leaned against the hood, staring off down my over-manicured street. “You aren’t the only one who could use a clean start.”
There was more going on here than a visit, that was obvious.
“Why don’t we throw your stuff—some of your stuff—upstairs and get a drink?” We were obviously going to have to do some heavy-duty planning for both of us.
“Can we go to the Brew Ha Ha?”
“You want to go to The Brew? Not a pub or something?” It seemed out of character for her to not want to try a local craft brew.
“You talk about it all the time, and maybe I’ll get to lay eyes on this hottie cop of yours.”
“He’s not mine. But, sure, we can go to The Brew.”
We carried her bags upstairs and she ooh’d and aah’d over how cute the apartment was. We put her clothes in the small closet in the living room and headed on over to The Brew.
Of course, Abby was working. I was beginning to wonder when she wasn’t working.
“Who’s this?”
“Hi, Abby. I’m fine thanks. How are you?” I’d learned to just respond to her as if she’d said exactly what a normal person would.
“Right. Fine. Whatever. Who is she?” She pointed a suspicious glare at Jayne.
“This is Jayne. My best friend from home.”
This didn’t seem to win Jayne any points.
“So, she’s here to visit?”
“Does it matter?” Jayne glared back at Abby.
Well, this was going to be interesting.
“Yes. John says I have to be nice to the regulars, so if you’re going to be coming in all the time with this crew, then I have to be polite.”
“Just to be clear, you’ll only be polite to me if I’m going to be a regular?” Jayne glanced my way and I tried to tell her with a strong look not to engage.
“Right.”
“So, yes. I’m going to be a regular.”
Now Abby had good reason to look suspicious. “Are you just saying that so I’m polite to you?”
“Is this your version of polite? Because, I have to tell you, it kind of sucks. I almost want to say I’m not going to be a regular to see how you treat normal people.”
“Jayne, for the love of stars, do not tempt fate!” This was the scariest thing that had happened in days. And I’d just gotten out of jail.
Jayne and Abby stared each other down, their gazes clashing over the counter. It was a match of wills for the centuries.
“Abby! Stop glaring at the customers.” John’s voice came from the back room. There were days he didn’t even bother to come out to correct her any more. Just shouted from where he was. I considered buying him one of those zappy collars people trained their dogs with.
That was probably illegal, though, and I was done dancing on the dark side.
“She can’t decide if she’s a regular or not,” Abby shouted back without bothering to look away from Jayne. “You said I had to be nice to the regulars.”
I could hear the long suffering sigh from the backroom, before a chair-scraping sound and John’s tread pacing to the front of the café.
“I said, don’t be rude to the regulars. Not you only had to be nice to the regulars.”
“But you didn’t say I had to be nice to anyone or not to be mean to the drop-ins.”
John’s gaze narrowed on Abby and for the first time I saw a spark of anger in it. Abby must have seen it too, because she turned toward him, her hands clasped at her waist.
“You want to learn to run a restaurant? To be a manager? Or do you want to be a petulant child no one wants to work with?”
I sucked in a breath and glanced toward Jayne who was looking at this as if it were all interesting. She could have no idea how much John and the customers put up with from Abby. It was almost a rite of passage to have to deal with her. But, there was direct and then there was the over-the-top rude.
That must be the line.
“I’m not…” Abby glanced at us, a quick burst of panic crossing her face. “I’m not…”
I wished Jenna was here. Abby speechless was a new thing.
“It’s fine.” Jayne leaned over the counter so John could see her past the pastry display. “I provoked her. She wasn’t being rude, just specific.”
John glanced between them, his expression softening. “Right. Okay. Remember, rude is bad. Direct is…well, we’ll work on that.”
Without even waiting to be introduced, John went back to whatever he was doing in the backroom.
“Sorry.” Abby was looking at Jayne as if she were a super hero. “I’m…direct. And John is a bit stressed right now.”
I glanced around the very quiet Brew and hoped that the death knell of my new favorite place wasn’t being sounded.
I headed over to our overstuffed chairs and settled in, waiting while Jayne chatted with Abby as she finished our drinks. The Brew couldn’t be in trouble. I wouldn’t let it. I’d use my super-marketing powers to help if that were the case. A quick conversation with John was in order, but definitely not today. Maybe some evening events.
The Brew After Dark. That could be fun.
And profitable.
Jayne headed over and plopped down in the seat beside me, looking content and rested for someone who’d just driven over ten hours.
“So, this is the place.” She glanced around. “Interesting. More active than I expected.”
“But not active enough from what Abby says. I’m going to talk to John about some marketing. He’s the one who helped me find a place to live. We’ll call it even. Not that I don’t love having The Brew to myself, but no customers equals no Brew.”
“Great. So that gives us one more job, even if it is pro bono.”
I could feel myself freeze, the cup halfway to my lips as I asked, “Us?”
THIRTY-ONE
“Yes.” Jayne set her mug down and turned to face me, her game face on already. “Us. As in you and me. As in, I’m going to be your assistant.”
“Except, I’m not hiring.”
“Yes you are.”
“No. I’d know if I were hiring. And I may have just lost my big job because of a little problem with getting arrested instead.” Which was still eating at the back of my mind. I had no idea if at this point if I had a record or not. Max could have gone back in and said, Forget it. Charge her. There could be a warrant for my arrest right now. I could be a fugitive. I’d have to go on the run and never contact my friends or mother again…which, with how odd she’d been on the phone this week, might not be the worst news ever anyway.
Jayne snapped her fingers in front of my face. “Where’d you go?”
“Mexico.” That’s were fugitives went, right? I had to head for the border.
“Mexico? Really?” Jayne gave me a more skeptical look than usual. Which, I’m not gonna lie, was pretty hard.
“No. Not really-really. I was just wondering if I was a fugitive from justice.”
“Justice, no. Poor decision making, absolutely.” Jayne took a deep sip of whatever Abby gave her as a peace offering and smiled. “But, as your new admin, I’m here to make sure that only good decisions are made from now on.”
“Jayne, for real, I can’t afford an admin. I don’t know what you’re thinking. I can’t even afford to cover my rent. I’m living on my severance and if things don’t pick up before the end of that, my savings. I can’t pay you.”
Jayne slammed her mug down, catching even Abby’s attention. “Did you hear me ask to be paid? Did you hear me say I was going to do XYZ for ABC?”
“That’s how jobs work.”
“Listen up, Sparky McLawbreaker. This is how friendships work. You need help. I’m help. You suck it up and take the help.” She leaned forward into my space, her voice dropping so no one beyond the couches would have heard us if John had
more than the two of us there. “You are going to learn that not everyone is your emotional manipulative ass of an ex-boyfriend. You are going to learn that some of us actually care for you. Kasey. Kasey the person. Not, Kasey who can do something for us. And…” She pointed a finger at me, stabbing it through the air in a way that looked potentially deadly. “And you are going to like it.”
Everything I could think of to respond with started with But…I had a sneaking suspicion anything that started that way would get my butt kicked.
“Listen, Kasey, I get it. You’ve never really had someone who was there for you through it all. Someone for you.” She waved her hand when I tried to jump in, tried to say she had been. “No. Not me either. If I had, I wouldn’t have been afraid to rock the boat about how Jason treated you and talked to you. But, I’m here now and we might as well do this friend thing right from here on out.”
“You don’t owe me because of the Jason stuff.”
“I know. Well, maybe a little. But that’s not what I’m thinking.” She leaned back into her chair, picking her drink back up and apparently switching out of attack mode. She slid me a sly look. “Well, maybe you’ve had one person who hasn’t let you down.”
I knew what she was saying, knew it was true. But, danced the dance anyway, afraid to say his name out loud as if it were to admit something horrible had been taken from me that had never truly been mine to begin with. “Jenna?”
“Don’t be dense.”
Right. I’d been dense too long. I nodded, still afraid to say it.
“Okay, so,” Jayne slipped back into business mode that easily, dragging me with her. “Here’s the deal. I need to focus more on my art. You need to focus more on the creative end of your business. I need someone to create a site and brand to sell me that’s so kickass people don’t even notice how quasi-talented I am. You need to stop wasting time tracking mailing lists. Also, someone who creates original art for you wouldn’t hurt. Together, we can take over the world.”
Okay, when put like that it didn’t sound so bad.