Tom glanced up. “Hi. Thought I’d lost you to the kitchen.”
“No, just checking in with the boss.”
“The real boss, eh?”
Lenny winced. “Sorry—”
“It’s fine.” Tom held up a hand. “Nero runs this business on the ground, and he’s the face frontline staff see most. I don’t have a problem with people calling him boss.”
Fair enough. Lenny peered over Tom’s shoulder. “You gonna put me out of my misery?”
“Do I need to? Or do you seriously not know how talented you are?”
“Erm . . .”
“Why tigers, Lenny?”
He shrugged. “They just fit.”
Tom nodded slowly. “I think you’re right. They’re strong and warm, a little bit mysterious, and a little mismatched with the rest of the decor. I like that. It makes me feel like there’s a place for everyone here—” He stopped and something seemed to click. When he spoke again, his voice had lost its briskness. “We wanted Nero to do this, but we always knew he wouldn’t. This is the next best thing.”
“You really like it?”
Tom’s gaze flickered to the pizza oven as he traced a finger over the restaurant name Lenny had painted on the draft front sign. “Yes, Lenny, the Stray Tiger . . . it’s everything we envisioned and more.”
Later that night found Lenny and Debs fighting through crowds in one of Farringdon’s busiest bars—a gay bar, no less—searching for the Urban Soul crew.
Debs tugged his sleeve. “They’ll be by the dancefloor. They always are.”
“Thought you said you hadn’t been here before.”
“I haven’t, but they’re animals, all of them, and they’ve been out since eight. If they ain’t doing the conga to the YMCA by now, I’ll eat my bra.”
Charming, though she turned out to be not far off the mark. The dance floor was packed with Urban Soul employees, Cass and Jake right in the middle of it, busting out some dubious moves to an old Alice Cooper track. Lenny itched to join them, but first he wanted—needed—to find Nero. It had been hours since they’d spoken in Vauxhall, and Lenny craved his fix, damn it, even if the nonconversations of recent days had left him a bundle of pent-up nerves.
It wasn’t long before Debs abandoned Lenny for the dance floor. Laughing, he scanned the rest of the Urban Soul crew. Tom was at the bar, which seemed the most sensible place to look for Nero too, but there was no sign of him nearby.
The volume of the blasting music went up a notch. Lenny swayed to the beat, absorbing it, letting it seep into his bones and melt away the tension in his muscles and joints. Think about it. Where would he be in a club like this?
Truthfully, Lenny had no idea, as every night he’d spent with Nero outside of the kitchen had been a party for two, but logic pulled him to the smoking area on the club’s terrace, and sure enough, there was Nero, sitting on a wall with Jolen, drinking what looked like rum.
“Hey.” Nero’s dark eyes glittered over his glass. “Debs with you?”
“She was. I left her with Cass.”
Nero snorted. “Disco twats.”
“You don’t dance?”
“No.”
“Shame.”
Nero tipped his glass back, draining it. “Is it?”
Lenny shot a pointed glance at Nero’s slim hips and shrugged. “I reckon so.”
Jolen cleared his throat and slid down from the wall. He socked Nero’s arm and disappeared into the crowds, sparing Lenny a knowing wink. Lenny watched him go, then turned back to Nero. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard him speak.”
