Park Avenue Player(9)
“How long were you standing there listening?” I asked.
“Since Keto crotch.”
Great. Just great. “I was just getting water. I didn’t know she was your—”
He cut me off, turning to Hailey. “You want to tell me why you skipped the after-school program and robbed a makeup counter today?”
“The principal called you?”
“Yes.”
“Okay…I know it doesn’t make sense. But I think Elodie helped me figure out why I did it.”
He looked over at me and raised his brow. “Oh, she did, did she?”
“Yes. And I won’t do it again. I promise.”
“I’m supposed to believe that?”
“I’m not like my dad. If I say something, I mean it.”
The look on Hollis’s face transformed from anger to something else. Sadness? Understanding, maybe? As much as I was curious to stay and observe their dynamic, it wasn’t my place.
“I’ll let you two talk.” I turned to her. “Hailey, it was really nice meeting you.”
“You too, KC.” She winked.
It took me a moment to realize it was an acronym. Keto Crotch.
“Uncle Hollsy, don’t be mad at Elodie for denting your car. She didn’t mean it.”
“Wise girl. You should listen to her, Hollsy.” I winked before sauntering out of there.
Chapter 5
* * *
Elodie
Soren was screwing the new secretary. He sat in his high-back leather executive chair, hands clasped behind his head with his feet propped up on his massive dark wood desk. And Bambi (yes, she claimed that was the name given to her at birth) was straddling him and giggling.
They hadn’t heard me come in, too busy feeling each other up.
I plopped my butt down on the visitor chair. “Classy. Can I watch?”
Soren chuckled at the way Bambi jumped out of his lap. She apologized as she scurried back to her desk.
I dug a file from my oversized purse and attempted to save a nail that had chipped on the drive over to the office. “You know, that could have been a client instead of me.”
“It’s not like we run a tea shop. Women are coming in here because their husbands are fucking around. Bet some of them would like to watch me stick it to Bambi.”
“You’re a pig. I have no idea why I even work for you.”
“Because I overpay you.” He took his boots off the desk, and they clanked meeting the floor. “And I put up with you being a bitch. Now that I think about it, I’m not sure how I work with you.”
I smiled. “You’re going to miss me when I’m gone, aren’t you?”
“You got the job? The one watching the kid for the big shot?”
I sighed. “No.”
“Why not?”
“There was a small incident.”
Soren lifted his coffee mug to his mouth. “What’d you do? Spill something on him or tell him off?”
“Neither. Well, not really.”
“So then why are you sitting across from me and not in some hurdy-turdy, fancy penthouse?”
“I got into a little accident.”
“Another one? What is that now? The third one in the last eighteen months? Your insurance must be a damn fortune.”
“Parallel parking is impossible. Though, this time I wasn’t even backing in. I just don’t get why they can’t make the spots bigger on the street so people can easily pull in.”
“Because real estate is almost two grand a square foot here, sweetheart.”
“I might have to start taking public transportation.”
“Been telling you that since the day you started here. No one drives. Learn the subway system already.”
I sighed.
Soren set his empty coffee mug on the desk and clasped his hands behind his head again, leaning back in his chair. “What the hell does your accident have to do with you not getting the job you wanted? Were you late or missed the appointment or something?”
“Oh. I had an accident parking down the block from where my interview was. Turns out the driver, who wouldn’t admit the accident was his fault, was actually the guy I was supposed to interview with.”
Soren threw his head back in a fit of laughter. He actually snorted from laughing so hard.
“I’m glad you find my disaster of a life so amusing.”
“You’re one hot mess who’s lucky she’s hot. You’re either hitting something, spilling something, or tearing apart some schlep’s life. Your brother would kick your ass for the shit you do. Hell, he’d kick both our asses for the shit I let you do. In fact, the only thing he’d approve of is that I overpay you.”
Soren was an ex-marine, ex-cop, and all around badass. He’d been my older brother’s sergeant in the corps. He also let me pick and choose the jobs I wanted, make my own schedule, and he actually did overpay me—three of my favorite qualities in a man.
After my last job with Larry the lawyer, I had hoped to be done working for Soren. Not that I didn’t appreciate him giving me a job when I’d quit the last one without a dime to my name and showed up at his office—because I did. But I needed to get a job on my own. Someone else had been helping me for the better part of twenty-five years. It was time, although apparently not today after all.