“Hmm,” he hums as he takes the seat across from me. “Just the thing I’ve been waiting for.”
I glare at him as he smirks back at me.
“How do I put this nicely?” He pauses just to raise a brow for dramatic effect. I glare harder to show him how little this amuses me. “I don’t want your fucking crown. Too much drama.”
“And where did you spend your night after the party?” I ask him, tone knowing.
“Between Mrs. Hall and her newest boy toy. It was quite a long night.” He gets lost in the memory of it, I’m sure, because there is a drunken smile on his face. And just like that, he wipes it away, his eyes now focused on me. “Even still, I look better than you.”
“And where was Mr. Hall?” I ask, ignoring the last part.
“Probably upstairs,” he replies with a shrug. “He did have quite a bit to drink at the party, so I wasn’t worried if he happened to be home.”
“What was it you were saying about too much drama?” It would have been a nightmare for Torrin if Mr. Hall knew what his wife was up to. Mr. Hall is known for ruining people who cross him. He doesn’t have the power to touch me, so I’m not afraid of him, but I keep him in my pocket and on my better side simply because I don’t want the headache.
Torrin’s chuckle pounds through my head like a hammer. I wince and he doesn’t miss it.
“Did you drink after you got home?” He sounds truly concerned now.
“No,” I grunt. Surprisingly, I went to bed after he dropped me off, but I’m not telling him that. It makes me sound lame. “It’s nothing. It’ll pass.”
I hope to fuck it does.
“Great. So what do you need me to do?”
Work talk, I can handle that. His worry and pity, I cannot. He’s my closest confidant, and dare I say, my lifelong friend, but I have to draw the line at that emotional shit. Especially if it’s because he sees me as weak. Fuck that. I’m fine. I’llbefine.
What the fuck was I going to do today? I know I had a whole list in my head, but I’ll be damned if I can remember it.
I’m not entirely sure I didn’t drink last night. It wouldn’t take much to convince me that I got up at three in the morning, sleepwalked my way into my office, and poured a healthy gulp or two of bourbon. Hell, maybe I should have a drink right now.
I stare at Torrin. He’s way too chipper for my health today. Getting laid looks good on him. Shame it didn’t have the same effect on me this time.
“Casino grab,” I tell him. “Lock Street Deli is behind on payments.” That’s all I can remember at the moment. My head is stuffed with cotton, and as I reach for my notes, I realize my eyes are burning too.
“You want to take the day off?”
“No,” I snap, then shoot him a half-looking apology with my eyes. “No. I just need some coffee, then I’ll be good.”
“Promise?”
“Yeah, fucker.”
“Okay,” he says, and it sounds like he’s letting it go. Knowing my luck, he’s going to keep a close eye on me for the next day or two. “I’ll go handle the casino while you,” he looks me up and down, “take a shower and sort yourself out. Then I’ll meet you at the deli. I could go for a turkey club.”
Hours later, I’ve decided the deli will have to wait. Nearly everything is going to have to wait. I’ve sent Carlo out to handle a few things, confident that he doesn’t need to talk to get my pointacross. If his stern expression won’t make the message obvious, his massive muscles will. He’s the one who picks up the slack when Torrin and I need it. Other than that, he’s extra muscle when a shakedown needs to happen. Scary looking fucker, and I’m not just saying that because he has skulls tattooed on his throat.
Torrin is back at the house after having taken care of the casino’s money and sorting it out properly. I wish I had numbers in front of me, but only because I’m a controlling bastard and like to keep on top of my shit.
“You’re sweating,” Torrin tells me as he pushes me back onto the sofa in my office. I don’t even attempt to fight him. He makes himself a drink, and I don’t miss the concerned pinch of his brow as he gulps it back while keeping his eyes on me.
“Yes, well, it’s fucking hot in here.” Even as I say this, I can see the curtains dancing wildly as the breeze flows into the open windows. I can feel the cool air hitting my skin. I’m being a fucking idiot and I know it.
Torrin doesn’t snort at my stupid attitude. He doesn’t roll his eyes at me. In fact, the look he’s giving me is very concerning. It’s bordering on pity, and he fucking knows better.
This has me very worried. I must look worse than I imagined.
I try to wave him away. My hand feels numb and heavy. I start to work the buttons of my shirt, needing more cool air on my skin. He watches me fumble for a long minute, and when he starts coming at me like he’s going to help me, I grab the two sides of the shirt and rip it open. Buttons go flying, landing on the polished wood floor with little pings. One hits him in the stomach, and he stares down at the spot for a moment before lifting his gaze to me, brow raised in amusement. There, that is better. Not only the air on my skin but also I got the fucking look of worry off his face.
