There was more cheering from the group.
“Halloween night we’re screening horror movies in the ballroom of that creepy lakeside mansion on Harwood Street.”
“You talked whoever owns it into letting you do that?” Wylie asked, sounding impressed. “We drove past it one day. It’s crazy big.”
“Yes, I talked myself into it.” The blond man snickered. Members of his club had started filing outside, letting cold air blast into the parlor. “I’m Chance Grinspoon.” He shook hands with each of us, then passed over an envelope to each of the guys. “We paid individually online and tipped there, too, but we wanted to make sure you were well compensated for accommodating all of us. We had a wonderful time.”
Ren saluted with the thick envelope. “Much appreciated. You’re welcome back whenever you want.”
Chance clasped his hands and gave a stage bow, then was on his way out to join the rest of his group. Ren followed him and locked the front door, since it was close to 11:00 p.m., then flipped the sign to Closed.
“That was nuts.” I started around the room spraying the other chairs, then wiping them down. “I don’t know if I could handle that much pressure. Everyone staring at you.”
Ren shrugged and counted the money in the envelope, then folded it in two and stuffed it into his back pocket. “Well, this should just about cover the fucking scratch I noticed on Shakira’s driver-side door today. I took her for a wash because I thought maybe that would help, but it didn’t.” He scowled around the room with his arms crossed.
Wylie was already sweeping the floor and stopped to gape. “No.”
“Fucking yes!”
The autoclave began to hum in the back room, a comforting sound that reminded me of working at A Barber for Kings.
“The driver’s side?” I called, stashing the disinfectant in the back room, then dropping the rag in the hamper there. I popped back out and mirrored Ren’s pissed-off body language, trying to get a laugh out of him, but it didn’t work, not even when I made a big production of crossing my arms.
“Yeah. Who knows what happened?” He shook his head bitterly.
Flint stopped the cleaning he was doing to frown at Ren. “Someone hit it with their car door? I hate that shit.”
“No, it’s not a chip, it’s a bunch of wiggly little shallow scratches.” He bared his teeth. “Someone had to have done that on purpose, and when I find out who, I’m going to rip their asshole out past their tonsils.”
“On thedriver’sside,” I deadpanned, rolling my eyes. I was putting two and two together to make twenty. “Don’t you make a habit of checking Shakira every day? Take her out into the sunshine and see it gleam on the paint?”
Ren grunted and walked over to the register. I noted hisfuck thisface as he locked the drawer rather than running the end of the day reports. “I’ve been a little busy.” He winked at me.
My irritation spiked. Him and his fucking winking. “So, can you think ofanythingthat might’ve happened on that side of the car? Anything at all that could’ve scratched it?”
Ren snorted. “I would never allowanythingto happen to my baby.”
“Never?”
Flint and Wylie were smirking. I didn’t know if they knew exactly what had happened—they seemed to exist somewhere between friends and employees on Ren’s radar. Would he have told them about our sexcapades?
“Did something happen in Shakira, Boss? OronShakira?” Wylie took his balls in hand and poked the bull.
Ren glanced up from the register. “No, what could’ve possibly?—”
We made eye contact.
I grinned.
His mouth snapped shut, and I got the supreme pleasure of watching his cheeks flare a brilliant pink that traveled to the tips of his ears.
I couldn’t help but laugh.
Flint came over and smacked my shoulder lightly with his fist. “What did he do?”
“Everyone go home,” Ren growled, but he came over to kiss me, and I hummed against his lips as he picked me up to shake me around at the same time. “Bad, Kitten.”
“Don’t blame me for your mind starting to go, old man.”
