A reminder of who she is. Of what she’s done.
Except this isn’t all she is and all she’s done.
When I’d entered through her lobby the previous evening, having run over instead of driven to burn off some energy, I got to talking with her doorwoman, Liz. In the span of ten minutes, I’d learned everything about Liz, but also many things about Electra. Surprising things.
Like Electra getting Liz her job after they met at a woman’s shelter where Liz worked and Electra volunteered.
Or Electra spending the afternoon with Liz’s daughter to write a recommendation letter—something Liz credits for the subsequent acceptance and full ride.
Throwing money at things isn’t a feat. But spending time with strangers, caring about them…that doesn’t fit the monster narrative that I was spoon-fed as a child and that I carried into adulthood.
If it weren’t for Quinn’s release hinging on the Atlantean mine’s destruction, I’d like to think I would’ve called off the mission and put miles between myself and this woman who’s slowly but surely making me lose my fucking mind.
“What are we shopping for?” Electra asks.
Her question—more the way she phrases it—tightens something in my gut. One week, and Electra and I have become awe. I keep waiting for it to fall apart, for her to admit she’s also conning me, because why else would she have welcomed me so fast into her life and onto her island?
I coerce my mind to quiet and slide my fingers through hers, towing her toward the seafood counter. “How do you feel about Chilean Sea Bass?”
“Like you feel about older women.”
I shake my head, draw her to a stop, and kiss her right there in the baking aisle, between flour sacks and honey jars. It’s not chaste. There’s tongue, teeth, saliva, whimpers, groans. It’s wildly inappropriate, but so fucking hot I don’t consider stopping.
Thankfully, she does. “That kind of entertainment usually comes with a cover charge,” she murmurs, straightening the backward cap on my head.
I grin like the pussy-whipped man I’ve clearly become, wind my arm around her waist, and resume our trek toward the back of the grocery store. “How did you find me?”
“You texted me you were going to the supermarket down the block just as I was leaving the dress fitting, so I asked Diego to drop me off.”
“Howwasthis dress fitting?”
“Long.”
“Wish I could’ve been there.”
“To keep me company, or to help me out of the dress?”
“Both, but also to see you in it. I love it when you wear dresses.”
“Well, you’ll see it soon, since Labor Day is right around the corner.”
Will it be the last thing I see? It wouldn’t be the worst way to go, I suppose.
“Speaking of which…” Electra smooths a hand down my white tee. “You need a suit. Dorian recommended a tailor. Tell me your availabilities, and I’ll make an appointment.”
Even at my last job, I wasn’t brought into the fold this quickly. Accepting her kindness so easily doesn’t sit right. If only I were wired like Trenton—devoid of conscience and full of ego.
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll rent something,” I end up saying, because I’d prefer to deposit what little money I’ll have left by then into the bank account I set up for Quinn.
“He’s on retainer,” Electra says.
My chest prickles—or rather, my ego does. “You’re not buying me a suit.”
She sighs but drops it.
At the seafood counter, she watches me select two prime fillets and chat with the fishmonger about origin and sourcing. The offerings aren’t the freshest, but they’re the most convenient. After he’s wrapped up the sea bass steaks in wax paper, Electra and I wander over to the produce section, where I bag a plump summer squash and a bunch of snap peas.
“You’ve never worked in a restaurant?” she asks, as I sort through the heirloom tomatoes until I’ve found the ripest, meatiest ones.
