“I’m Deacon, and I’d like to take a few minutes of your time.” He gestures to one of the tables behind him.
I pull a face. “I’m pretty busy at the moment, and I usually only take meetings if they’ve been previously scheduled.”
“Which was an oversight on my part,” he says with a slick look of contrition that appears anything but genuine. He tugs uncomfortably at his tie, as though he’s not used to wearing it. “I can make an appointment if you’d like, but I’m already here, and Ireallythink you’ll find this discussion worth your time.”
My brain kicks into high gear. Who is this guy? If the Labelles sent him, I’m tempted to kick him out on his ass, especially if he thinks he can get me to agree to give away my kid like she’s a keg of beer. But I can’t risk ending this conversation before it really begins. I need information. I got lucky finding out about the private investigator. Or Holly did, I guess.
I can’t count on that happening again.
I cast a quick glance to Brittany, but she looks as perplexed as I am.
“And I’d love a glass of your new IPA,” Deacon says, still wearing his smile. “I’ve heard great things.”
Without a word, I grab a glass and fill it, setting it on the counter in front of him. “I think we can talk right here.”
He darts a questioning glance at Brittany.
“I have no secrets here,” I say flatly. “Now, why don’t you go ahead and tell me what you’re peddling, so I can get back to my supply order.”
His grin spreads, thinning his lips, and it makes him look shady as shit. “I’m not peddling anything, Cole. If anything, I’m about to make you an offer I’m sure you can’t refuse.”
The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I have yet to hear of someone profiting from an offer that couldn’t be refused. If anything, there are often nefarious reasons for not being able to turn something down. What is this asshole up to?
I narrow my eyes. “Are you an attorney?”
He looks confused, then releases a laugh. “No, sir. Definitely not, but I can assure you that I’ve had attorneys look over the offer I’m about to present to you. If we could…” He takes a step backward and gestures to the table again.
I still want to send this guy packing, but there’s a growing sense of dread in my gut.
Last Friday, I followed up with the attorneys that Rory had put me in touch with last summer, and all three of them said there was nothing the Labelles could do to take Jane from me. There’s no abuse or neglect, and I’m meeting all her needs. While I’m limiting contact with the Labelles, by letting Jane go with them on Sunday, I proved I wasn’t keeping her from them entirely, despite the fact I’d prefer she never see them again. The only thing that might sway a judge would be evidence of abuse.Orif Jane says she really wants to live with them. Please God, don’t let it come to that.
She came home from Sunday lunch wearing a pink frilly dress and patent leather shoes. Her shoulder-length hair was parted in the middle instead of to the side, and two crystal barrettes held her hair out of her face. She was barely recognizable.
“You got a new dress,” I said, trying to hide my shock. Millie had shown me photos of her dressed similarly from the cotillions her mother had forced her to attend when she was a girl. She’d hated every minute of it.
“Grandma says Mom had one just like it when she was my age,” she replied in a neutral tone.
I almost told her that her mother rebelled against being dressed up like one of the dolls in their doll room—yes, they actually have a room stuffed with creepy dolls, all the more reason to distrust them—but I decided to keep it to myself for the time being. “Did your grandparents serve anything good for lunch? Any sandwiches with Grey Poupon?”
She wrinkled her nose in confusion.
“Never mind, that commercial is too old for you to get.” Hell, it was too old formeto remember, but after I introduced the Cinema Sin channel to Cherrybomb, she told me about a channel with hilarious older TV commercials. One featured two mega rich old men in limos stopped in the middle of the road, one handing the other a jar of the fancy mustard with the hilariously bad name.
Okay, it was lame to pull that line on Jane, but I was nervous.
I’m not ashamed to say I’m still nervous now.
But I’m jumping to conclusions. This guy could be anyone. He could be here to sell me a vacuum cleaner or a vacation timeshare. He’s probably adamant about going to the table so he can spread out his map of the Florida swampland he’s trying to con me into investing in. But what if he really is here on behalf of the Labelles?
I need to know what I’m up against.
Sighing, I give Brittany a dry look. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Her surly frown makes it clear she doesn’t approve, but I walk around the bar anyway.
The guy has already made himself comfortable at a four-top table, and I lower into the seat opposite him.
“I’m giving you five minutes to get to business and tell me what you want.”
