He’s pouring himself a drink.
“You need that?” I ask.
He glares at me. “Yes, I do.”
To his credit, he does look a bit better. Not like shit warmed over and stepped on.
“It’s been two days. I need to know what you spoke to the Carvels about,” Carmine insists.
“You’re counting the days then? You could have come over,” I remind him.
He shakes his head. “I’m not doing this today. Just tell me how the conversation went.”
I eye him. I know I need to tell him. Lie to him.
Set him up for failure beyond what he could even be imagining.
I’m not ready yet.
I need more time.
“How ‘bout you tell me something first?” I ask him.
His brow furrows and he takes a sip. “Such as?” I watch his tongue dart along his lips.
“Why you reacted that way in the warehouse,” I reply.
He clears his throat. “Like what?”
“Like you were ready to burst into fuckin’ tears…or flames,” I remind him. I don’t break eye contact with him.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says. “We spoke at the warehouse, we parted ways. Nothing happened.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Now, who has the problem?” I reach for one of the empty glasses on the desk. “I need that drink.”
“I’m not sure why you care anyway,” he adds, but pours me a double while he’s talking.
“When I fuck a man and he cries after, it concerns me, Carm.” I take the glass and down it. It’s smooth going down, just a slight burn that settles in my stomach.
“I told you not to call me that,” he hisses, his voice low. “And keep your fucking mouth shut about that.”
“Why?” I ask. “What about it is so bad, so wrong?” I ask him.
I stand up from the chair and round the desk. I press my hand to the wood and lean down closer to him. “What aren’t you allowed to want?”
“I’m allowed to do and want whatever I want,” he snaps at me. “I’m in charge.”
“You weren’t that night,” I remind him. “I was, and based on the load you shot onto your own stomach, I’d say you were pretty into it.”
His face flushes deep red and his grip on his glass turns his knuckles white. He looks toward the door.
“It was a mistake,” he insists. “Letting you be in charge of anything is a bad idea.”
“I don’t think so.” My voice is low.
Carmine tries to stand up but I put my other hand on his chest and push him back down into the leather desk chair.
“What do you want from me?” Carmine growls.
