She shrugs. “I . . . a few days ago.”
“What did you eat?”
She acts like she’s thinking, then says, “A leftover sandwich.”
My eyes narrow. “Leftover by who?”
She shrugs, swallowing hard. “A guy in the park.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “You ate a sandwich from some guy you didn’t know?”
“Hey, beggars can’t be choosers, okay,” she snaps defensively. “Besides, I’m all good. I can go days without eating.”
“Yeah, not happening,” I huff, standing. “Shooter,” I bellow, and the prospect rushes over. “Watch the bar.” I turn back to Remi. “Let’s go.”
“Go where?”
“To get food.” She’s already shaking her head, so I round the bar and grab her hand. “It wasn’t a request.”
We go into the kitchen, and I force Remi to sit at the central island. Then I go to the fridge and take out the ingredients I need.
Remi watches me in silence as I grab the chopping board and begin to chop an onion. “I’ll speak to Axel and see if you can have an advance.”
“It’s fine, I’ve got it covered.”
“If you had it covered, you wouldn’t have taken the money.”
“Jesus, I put it back, didn’t I?”
I slice some pepper then pop a bagel in the toaster. “You never said what made you put it back.”
“Roxy,” she mutters. “She said you’d be pissed, and it wasn’t worth the hassle.” She sighs. “I just wanted to pay my way. She’s putting me up for free.”
“She offered?” Remi nods. “Then don’t stress about it.”
“I don’t like charity.”
I arch a brow. “But you’ll eat from a stranger?”
“He put it in the bin. He didn’t want it.”
I briefly close my eyes, angry that she’s had to stoop so low. “Still, that won’t happen again. You get hungry, just come and tell me.” I assemble the toasted bagel with cream cheese and the onion and pepper. “Tell me how you’ve got it covered,” I ask, going back to her earlier answer.
“I went to see Ragnor.” I bristle at her words. “He gave me some cleaning shifts, or at least said I could go see this woman.” She produces a business card, waving it in the air. “I’m gonna go tomorrow.”
“Cleaning?” I repeat like it leaves a bad taste.
“Please don’t tell me I don’t belong on my knees scrubbing or I will walk out of here,” she snaps.
“Ragnor said that?” I guess.
“Made me a real ‘nice’ offer,” she continues, using air quotes. “You were right about him.”
“You turned him down?” Somehow, it feels better knowing she’s not interested.
“I might be desperate, but not desperate enough to be someone’s sex slave.”
“Damn, that was gonna be my next offer,” I tease, and a small smile tugs at her lips.
