A few months ago, she’d started at SC part time on weekends because, in short succession, she’d popped out three kids by three different dudes, and she needed the cash.
But now, she filled in often when someone had a day off, or called in sick, or the Angels were on the move.
One thing you could say about her, it seemed she also had the capacity for growth, because when I first met her, she was a total flake and made Kevin look like an amateur in the mooch department. But now, she was dependable. Totally solid as a rock.
Oh, and she was kind of a server/bouncer. If we had a shitty customer, Dream took over, and she had a way with dealing with shitty customers. You could even say she’d made it an art.
As far as I knew, Louise, Luna and Dream’s mom, didn’t have any server experience, but fortunately serving wasn’t rocket science. Though, it wasn’t like anyone could do it in their sleep, it took skill, but no lives depended on it. So hopefully she’d be okay to fill in for a couple of hours.
I went to our glass-fronted beverage fridge and got myself a San Pelligrino. With a glance at Shanti, and her return glance, I got her one too.
Truth: We both needed to hydrate after our mimosa-without-juice-a-thon at brunch.
I settled beside Shanti on the couch.
“Raye’s not coming because she’s otherwise occupied,” Gemma said on a huge smile as Luna wandered our way.
“I can’t wait to see her ring,” Harlow gushed.
“Take a look,” Luna said, handing her phone to Harlow before she rested her ass against the desk in front of us.
“Oh my God! That’s so Raye!” Harlow exclaimed at the picture on the cell.
We passed around Luna’s phone and got a good gander at Raye’s simple, princess-cut solitaire that was not simple in heft.
Cap done good (or Shirleen did in the guidance of her son, and yeah, Shirleen was Cap’s mom, also Roam’s, both adopted—as you could see, the Nightingale/Rock Chick posse had a long and complicated, but loving, history).
I was the last to get the phone, so I passed it back to Luna, asking, “You okay?”
“Peachy,” she said breezily, looking down at the snap on her phone with a small, happy smile on her face.
Okay, so maybe I read that earlier scowl wrong.
Still.
“You were scowling at the computer screens,” I told her.
She looked at me. “That’s because Clarice said she was sending a report of what Arthur dug up on Mr. Shithead, she knew the briefing was happening now, and it hasn’t?—”
“Hello, Angels,” the speaker on the desk drawled in Morgan Freeman’s voice.
We all jumped.
And then we all went still.
It wasn’t that the speaker never spoke, as in, Arthur never “talked” to us using a famous actor’s voice.
He did.
It was just that it usually only said, “Well done, Angels” at the end of a mission.
So this was new.
“Oh my God,” Gemma breathed.
“Welcome, Joey and Gemma,” the speaker, or Arthur, somewhere, live and in the flesh, said…to us.
Wow.
