I tell her about how my week has been, but she doesn’t really pay much attention. After an hour has passed, I realize she isn’t going to talk to me, so I get up and leave.
I always try my best not to cry, as crying is seen as a sign of weakness. At least that’s what one of my mom’s husbands told me. I actually think he was weak because shortly after we received her diagnosis, he left her, which suited me just fine. She and I are each other’s constants in life. I detested all her husbands and would hate to deal with any of them now.
On the car ride to the office, I finally message Arlo to ask him for the address for tonight. He tells me it’s at his restaurant and that he can pick me up. I request that he not and tell him I’ll meet him there. For some reason, he doesn’t argue.
When I’m settled at my desk, I get to work on some last-minute contracts, which end up taking me well into the afternoon, and it’s not until Matty calls from out front that I realize the time.
Quickly gathering my things, I then head out to the car. Matty drives me home so I can get changed. I’m already late, but that was not my intention. I put on a short skirt and a button-up shirt. My hair is already styled, so I keep it the way it is and then proceed to slip on my red-bottomed heels before I step out the door.
When I arrive at the restaurant, I wonder if I should ask Arlo if we’re something more than fuck buddies. What are we doing if it’s not just having sex? I haven’t shared with him that no-strings sex isn’t what I’m looking for. Yet, I keep giving in.
When I push open the door, the restaurant is quieter than usual. I hear soft music but don’t see many people.
“Mr. Graves said to escort you to the back,” the hostess says when I approach. She starts walking, expecting me to follow. I check my watch and note that it’s past dinner time, and when I raise my head, I see Arlo and his friends sitting in booths at the back with a few other women. He spots me right away, his gaze tracking me as I make my way toward him. Arlo doesn’t bother standing when I stop at his table; instead, he looks around before pinning his gaze back on me. He smirks as he pats his thigh, indicating for me to sit on it. I raise a brow at him as if to say, “Really?” and he raises his right back before he pulls me down onto his lap.
“Your friends,” I fret, noticing others watching.
“They can look,” he says, caressing my cheek with his knuckles. “Did you miss me this morning?”
“Thank you for the food.”
“Pleasure to meet you under different circumstances, Cora.”
I turn and see the detective, Boston, standing there. He offers me his hand, and I lift mine to shake it. But as I do, Arlo adjusts me so I can no longer reach.
“Probably best you don’t touch what’s mine,” he says, a warning note in his tone as he stares at his friend.
“Yours?” I scoff.
Arlo doesn’t respond, just continues his stare down.
“Of course. Nice to see you again, Cora,” Boston says.
I glance around again, only to find the others watching us.
“Who are these people?” I whisper.
“Most work for me. Or they’re my competition. Every now and then, we have a night when we meet up.”
“So, they’re all therapists?” I question as his hand rubs up and down my back.
He leans in and whispers, “No, most of them are killers.”
I freeze at his words, and I feel his grin as he kisses my shoulder through my shirt.
THIRTY-FOUR
ARLO
Confidential — Personal Use Only
OBSERVATIONS:
Noticed a strong emotional reaction…
Another man’s hand on her quite upsets me.
One of my greatest strengths is being able to keep secrets. I did it for many years for my foster mother. I’ve done it for Soren. And I’ve done it for the sake of the Society. I don’t let things slip, and I usually abide by the rules. Reon once told me rules are meant to be broken, but I’d laughed in his face in disagreement. If a man can’t follow the rules, he isn’t worthy of keeping a secret.
