A frown pulls at my brow as I open it.
Inside are folded clothes, a pair of slippers, toiletries, and several containers of food stacked neatly on top of each other.
“Mama…”
“Some of those are my chicken pot pies,” she says briskly. “And the lasagna your brother likes. Figured if that poor girl’s staying with you, somebody needs to make sure she eats something besides bar food.”
“I feed my employees,” I mutter.
“You feed them fries and burgers.”
There’s no arguing with that.
She dusts off her hands like the matter is settled. “Now,” she says, looking at me again, “what’s her work schedule?”
“Why?”
“Dexter.”
A slow breath leaves my lungs.
“She works afternoons and evenings mostly. Off Sunday mornings.”
Mama nods like she’s been waiting for that answer.
“Well, that’s perfect then.”
Perfect for what?
“Since I’m not working Sunday at lunch,” she continues, “you’ll bring her over.”
A stare settles on her.
“For what?”
“We’re having family lunch.”
“That’s not unusual.”
She smiles.
“We’re announcing something.”
Suspicion rises instantly.
“Announcing what?”
“You’ll find out Sunday.”
“Mama…”
“And don’t even think about making excuses,” she cuts in smoothly.
I lean against the bar. “She just started working for me.”
“Good.”
“She barely knows any of us.”
