Cammy pinches an imaginary zipper over her lips while Debbie continues, leaning closer to me. “I overheard a conversation with a girl he used to see at my nail salon. I had my earbuds in waitin’ on my nails to dry, nose in a magazine, but these girls were just runnin’ their mouths with no idea I was paying attention, let alone the fact I knew who they were talkin’ about. The one chick said she loved him, he was a dream with all those goals, how good-looking he is, how he knows how to treat a lady. But she said he wasn’t commitment material. He wasn’t interested enough in her, she said, wouldn’t settle down any time soon. She also said he was way too kinky. Too kinky for her tastes. This was one of the reasons I tried to make an approach. I’m totally down for kink.”
“You sure are,” Cammy mutters, taking a pull on her straw, hollowing out her cheeks.
Debbie laughs.
My face feels hot. It feels wrong to sit and gossip about Killian like this.
“She’s into all sorts of freaky-deaky shit,” Cammy says and Deb cuts her off.
“Let’s not scare her off. So, anyway, Kill gave me the brush off. Fuckin’ bro code.” She rolls her eyes. “Said he’d never go where his buddies have gone before. But worse, he treated me like garbage because of shit I did when I was barely out of diapers.” She rolls her eyes another time. “He’s a grudge holder. And I’ve heard he carries it mean. Know someone who says they saw firsthand that if you fuck with anyone Kill cares about, he’ll ruin you. You fuck him over directly, he’ll annihilate you.”
“Like how?” Cammy asks, sucking on her milkshake.
“Like, he’s connected like Dario.”
Cammy makes a face and her eyes bounce to me. “Connected like…” she explains, “sleepin’ with the fishes?”
“Shh. Don’t be silly. Zip it,” Deb says, but she’s nodding just subtly with big eyes as if to tell Cammy and me she’s hit the nail on the head.
I’ve lost my appetite.
“Guys, I just realized I have a thing due at one o’clock. I’m gonna have to take this back to my desk and finish it there. Sorry.”
“Shit, we spooked her.” Debbie announces.
“Really – I just gotta go, but please ask me to come out with you guys again. I had fun. I just really need to get back.”
I rush to put the lid on my lunch container and get a takeout bag from the counter. I head out, waving bye to them. Just as I’m about to exit the food court, I see a guy approach from behind where we’d been sitting.
He walks ahead of me, his long legs eating up the distance. It’s as if he’s just somebody passing by, putting dark glasses on, wearing jeans and a leather jacket with a wool beanie on his head, but I know he’s not just somebody passing by. He’s the private eye.
Before those glasses went on, I saw those striking light-colored eyes. I didn’t even think about the private eye Killian hired to keep an eye on me today following me here. Of course he followed me out to lunch to make sure I’m not going to be harassed by Ray.
I hurry to my office building across the street not seeing him anywhere – it’s like he’s managed to vanish - but strangely I’m sure he’s watching me anyway.
I get the impression Killian wouldn’t hire anyone not fully competent.
I wonder with a sinking feeling if that whole conversation in all its sordidness was overheard.
***
I buckle down for the afternoon and it’s super-busy, so time flies and before I know it, the office is filled with the buzz of my coworkers leaving the building. It’s Friday so there’s that Friday feeling in the air. And for a change, I kind of have it, too.
I don’t usually feel great about Friday nights because it often means being with Ray all weekend or at home wondering when Ray might traipse in and out. Work has been my respite from him.
Not so this weekend. I have plans for dinner with Killian and I don’t know what’s on for the rest of the weekend but maybe I can go do something with Susanna tomorrow. I quickly finish the purchase order I’m typing up and submit it to a supplier before I shut down my computer, then head out the door, saying good night to our receptionist, Tara, on my way.
Killian is there, at the curb waiting for me. It’s 5:07.
He doesn’t stay sitting in the car, though. When he sees me step outside, he gets out, rounds the hood and opens the passenger door with a smile on his face.
“I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” I tell him. “Thanks,” I tack on as I scoot inside.