She paused again. I could hear papers ruffling around on her desk.
“There isn’t room!” she insisted, and I jumped when a banging sound caught me off guard. It was like she slammed something down on her desk.
Holy moly, I thought I was having a bad day.
“Fine,” she snapped. “Let me know when it’s taken care of.”
The phone slammed down and she blew out a frustrated breath. Like the sneaky gal I was being, I rushed back up the salon and pulled the back room door all the way around so it made a slamming sound. Then I walked down the center of the room, practically stomping my boots so she would hear me coming.
Susan appeared in her office door, a slightly nervous twitch about her. “Julie, I didn’t realize you were still here.”
I smiled. “Yep, just taking some inventory and restocking the display. I’m all finished now so I’m heading out.”
“You were in the back room?”
Duh. That’s what I said. “Yeah, I was making notes on my inventory sheet. I restocked the front earlier before everyone left.”
“Oh.” Susan relaxed. “Well, thank you. You’ve been doing a wonderful job.”
Something about the way she delivered the compliment seemed sad. I couldn’t imagine why me being good at my job was a bad thing.
“Is everything okay?” I asked hesitantly. I knew we were friends, but it seemed wrong not to ask.
Susan gave me a bright smile. “Everything’s great! Now go on. Get out of here. Have a great night.”
I wasn’t going to press. She was my boss after all. “You too,” I replied and walked toward the front door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
On my way to the car, I wondered about Susan’s personal life. I wondered if she had a personal life. It seemed like she was always at the salon, like Razor’s Edge was her life.
Of course, I knew it couldn’t possibly be the only thing, so it made me ponder what or who Susan spent her time with when she wasn’t working.
I thought about it the whole drive home, until I walked into my comfy townhouse and kicked off my boots. I went straight upstairs, avoiding the bed and the memories it now held, and straight for my sweatpants. They were purple, too big and insanely comforting. I pulled them on, knotted the drawstring waist, and then folded the waistband over itself so I didn’t trip and fall on my way back downstairs. With my pants, I put on a baggy gray T-shirt with sequins on the pocket and then padded barefoot downstairs.
In the kitchen, I made a huge bowl of popcorn with real melted butter, scrounged around for a box of peanut M&Ms and a bottled water, then carried my haul out into the living room to take up residence on the couch.
Once all my snacks were settled and a fuzzy blanket was waiting on the cushions, I put in my favorite movie, Pride & Prejudice, and then settled down for a night of munching and romance.
Thank goodness Mr. Darcy didn’t look a thing like Blue.
Sometime during my movie and copious amounts of sugar and butter, I fell asleep curled up inside my blanket. I dreamt about a man with intensely blue eyes, who spoke with an accent and kissed me in the pouring rain. I became extremely irritated when someone started knocking… trying to make my swoon-worthy dream boyfriend pull away from my lips.
I gave a growl and it brought me enough out of sleep to realize I wasn’t dreaming the sound. Someone was knocking on my front door.
I jolted up, squinting at the TV and the blue screen, and wondered what time it was. It was completely dark in here except for the light coming from the television. It had to be the middle of the night.
I glanced at the door. Who would be knocking at this hour? I got up, pulling the blanket around my shoulders like a shield, and crept over to the door.
The knocking had stopped.
Leaving the chain across the top, I unlocked the door and pulled it open just enough to see out. Cool night air leaked through the open space and weaved around my bare toes, causing them to curl against the floor.
Someone was retreating down the steps off my tiny porch. He was wearing a black leather jacket and a gray knit cap.
“Blue?” It was more of a whisper than anything. I blinked, wondering if perhaps I was still dreaming.
He stopped but kept his back turned. I didn’t have to see his face to know it was him. My heart was practically clawing its way out my chest to get to him. No one else affected me that way. No one.
“I shouldn’t have come so late,” he said, his voice low.
“I don’t care what time it is.”
His shoulders slumped, just ever so lightly. I only noticed because everything in me was focused on him. It was almost like he was relieved I opened the door, relieved that I would welcome him inside.
“C’mon. It’s cold outside,” I told him, trying to open the door wide, but the chain stopped it from moving. I rolled my eyes at myself and closed it, quickly removing the lock. When I reopened the door, I stumbled back a bit because I wasn’t expecting Blue to be so close.
He was in the doorframe, his broad chest inches from my face. After recovering from my initial shock from his closeness, I looked up and gasped.
He looked like hell.
14
Blue
A couple weeks since I saw Julie. A couple weeks of slumming with people I really didn’t like. Bullshitting and waiting for Dom to really accept me into the crew. I still felt like I was an outsider waiting to be invited into an exclusive clique.
It wasn’t a position I reveled in. In fact, I hated it. The real me was the kind of person who didn’t necessarily care what other people thought of me. I was never the type to try to fit into a certain crowd or group. I was who I was, and trying to be anything else was a waste of time.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t be the real me right now. I had to be Gray. Apparently, Gray was the type of guy who waited around for an invitation.
I could see the logic in that, especially in this line of business. Just like in the corporate world, there was a hierarchy to drugs: the big man who ran the operation, the supplier, the area bosses, and then the minions who worked for them.
But being someone’s bitch wasn’t my style. It was annoying. It was vaguely pathetic, and I wasn’t pathetic. I certainly wasn’t going to let Gray be pathetic either.
In the past two weeks, I’d barely made any headway in this case. Things started out strong the night of the club, but after that, Dom didn’t really say much. He made no invites, no inquiries. I was certain he asked around about me in Myrtle Beach because Slater told me. He couldn’t have been told bad things because he wouldn’t tolerate me hanging around with some of the crew and showing up at the clubs they frequented.