“Well,” I said, “what is it you wanted to talk about?”
“I . . . I don’t want to break off our arrangement.”
I couldn’t hide my surprise. “Why? You obviously don’t care about my product and you seem to hate my guts. Why in the world would you want to continue working together?”
“I don’t hate your guts, Bax.”
A laugh exploded from my chest. “You could’ve fooled me. Veronica, you treat me like something you scraped off the bottom of your Manolos. Don’t tell me that’s how you treat people you like.”
“Please don’t make me explain myself.”
“You’re going to have to. Because I sure as hell don’t see this thing working.”
She took a step forward and laid a hand on my shoulder. Her perfume surrounded me. She smelled like ripe peaches on a summer day. If the potatoes had made my mouth water earlier, this woman had me absolutely drooling.
“Bax, I—”
“Bax, I’m so sorry to interrupt.” The sound of Rickie’s voice practically ripped Veronica’s hand right off my shoulder. She backed into the desk. “We’re getting pummeled out there. We need you.”
“I’ll be right there.” I stood and brushed off my black apron with the image of an angel embossed in the top left corner. “I’m sorry, Veronica. I can’t do this now. It’s the day before Thanksgiving. As you can see, we’re kind of crazy here.”
“Your friend can stay, if she wants,” Rickie said from the doorway. “We could really use another pair of hands.”
I cocked my head at Veronica. “What do you say? You want me to work with you, right? Stay and learn about my cause. Maybe you’ll understand why I’m doing this.”
Veronica glanced between Rickie and me, biting her lower lip. I challenged her with my eyes.
“Um, yeah,” she said finally. “I guess I can stay for a bit.”
My jaw almost hit the angel on my apron. Holy shit. The woman could still surprise me.
“Wonderful,” Rickie said. She looked Veronica up and down. “But you can’t serve in that outfit. It looks expensive, and it would be a shame if it got ruined. Come with me, hon. I should have something you can wear.”
She wrapped an arm around Veronica’s shoulders and ushered her across the hall to her bedroom. I gaped at them until Rickie closed the door, giving me a look that insisted I get back to serving before they disappeared.
Shaking my head, I reclaimed my spot from Jefferson and ladled butternut squash soup into bowls. I passed them to the teen, and he placed them on the trays of waiting guests.
“Well, hot damn,” Jefferson said, straining to see behind us. “Who’s the new chick? She’s incredible.”
I looked up from the soup, and the ladle dropped out of my hand, splashing me with hot orange liquid. I barely noticed as a dot of skin on my wrist hissed at the heat.
Rickie had given Veronica an old pair of faded jeans and a red Washington Capitals T-shirt. Both were far too big, and the shirt flared halfway down her thighs. She’d pulled her hair into a messy ponytail on top of her head, and a few dark strands fell beside her face. In place of her usual stilettos, she sported a pair of old running shoes that were double the size of her feet.
Yet, somehow, it was the prettiest I’d ever seen her look. It was as though all the clothes and meticulous hair and makeup she usually wore were merely a costume, and this was the real Veronica standing near me, clasping and unclasping her hands. And goddammit, she was stunning.
Rickie pulled her behind me. “Jefferson, I need your young legs clearing tables and running dishes from the dining room to the kitchen. Veronica can help Bax at the soup station.”
Jefferson stared at Veronica and stuttered something I couldn’t make out before running around the serving counter with his head bowed.
“Okay,” I said as Veronica took his place at my side, “basically I just ladle the soup and hand it to you. Then you put it on their tray with two packages of the crackers there. Got it?”
She narrowed her eyes over her shoulder at me. “I’m not an idiot, you know.”
“I know. I just figured you were a little out of your depth here. Nice outfit, by the way.” I grabbed an apron off the pegs on the wall behind us as her face took on a satisfactory red sheen. “But you still might want this, just in case.”
She pulled the apron on and fumbled with the ties at the back. “Don’t you dare say another word about my clothes. This wasn’t exactly my first choice.”
“Aw, I think you look adorable. Very Walmart chic. Here, let me help you.” I reached behind her to tie the apron closed, but when my fingers grazed her back, she flinched and jumped away from me.
“I don’t need help,” she growled. Veronica pulled the apron tight, her hands visibly shaking as she managed to knot the ties together.
“Jeez,” I said, raising my palms. “I’m sorry you find me so disgusting I can’t even help you.”
She took a breath. “It’s not that. It’s . . .”
“What?”
“Nothing, okay? You just startled me, is all. Now, don’t we have to feed these people or something?”
“Yeah, you’re right.” The shallowness of her breaths and the way her shoulders shook told me there was more to it, but I decided not to press her. Hell, I was lucky she was even here. It was a freaking Thanksgiving miracle.
I ladled the sweet-smelling soup into a bowl and passed it to her. She added the crackers and placed it on the tray of one of our regulars. The man gave her a smile and a thank-you. The miracles kept coming as she uttered, “You’re welcome.”
Who knew those words were even in her vocabulary?
We worked like that for over an hour. The line seemed never ending. Soon, my back ached and my thighs cramped. The guests accepted Veronica as one of their own, chatting with her about the food and weather, and some of the bolder men even flirted with her. Veronica giggled and handed them their soup, but it was hard not to notice how her back went rigid and her hands shook as she placed the bowls on the trays of those men.
“They’re just having fun,” I said to her, after one such incident. “You know they don’t mean any harm. They’re just not used to women who look like you serving them food. They usually have to put up with faces like mine.”
“Your face isn’t so bad,” she said.
For the second time that day, I dropped the ladle. I was going to be a walking butternut squash if this kept up.
“Hi, Baxter!” a familiar young voice called to me over the counter. I arched onto the balls of my feet and peered over to find a six-year-old redheaded boy. Freckles practically covered his pale face, and he grinned through them.
“Connor!” I said. “Happy Thanksgiving! Is your dad here, too?”
“He’s saving us a place at the table. He told me to come up first.” Connor nodded at Veronica. “Who is she?”
“This is my friend Veronica. Veronica, meet Connor.” Veronica stood frozen, staring at Connor, a bowl of hot soup cradled in her palm. I waved a hand in front of her face. “Veronica?”
She broke out of her daze and placed the soup on the counter. “Sorry. Uh, hi, Connor. It’s nice to meet you. Would you like some soup?”
“Can I have extra crackers?”
Veronica looked to me, and I shrugged. “You’re in charge of the crackers. It’s your call.”
She grabbed a handful of the plastic-wrapped squares and plopped them on the tray. “How’s that?”
Connor’s blue eyes widened. “Wow! Thank you, miss! You’re the best.”
“You’re welcome.”
We followed the little boy with our eyes as he pushed his tray down the serving line and filled it with turkey, potatoes, stuffing, and pumpkin pie.
“Is he actually going to eat all that?” Veronica asked.
I laughed. “Well, he i
s a growing boy.”
“He’s so young.” I couldn’t be sure, but I could’ve sworn her voice cracked. Perhaps the Ice Queen was starting to melt.
“Yeah,” I said. “He’s had it rough. His mom died last year of cancer and his dad, Ian, lost his job soon after. They’d spent all their savings on medical bills and eventually lost their house. They live in their car now. Connor’s dad still sends him to school and spends every day trying to find work, but given the job market right now, he can’t get more than the odd job.”
“That’s so sad. I guess . . . I guess I never thought of these people like that.”
“Of course not. Because you never let yourself see them at all.”
At the end of the serving line, Connor tried to heave his tray off the counter and it almost fell onto his head. Veronica darted over to him and swooped up his tray.
“Here,” she said. “Let me help you with that. Where’s your dad, sweetie?”
Connor pointed to a man with red hair that matched his, and Veronica followed him to a table near the front of the dining room. I shook my head for what had to be the tenth time that day. Who was this woman, and what had she done with the Veronica I knew?
Connor’s dad joined the back of the line, and Veronica took his seat, chatting and laughing with the little boy. They acted like they’d known each other their entire lives. She was at ease next to him, and I couldn’t help but be impressed. Veronica actually seemed good with kids.
My chest warmed, like I’d eaten the soup I’d served all day. Having kids was one of the many things Clare and I had fought over before she left. I’d wanted a bunch of them, and at first, Clare had, too. But then her career started to take off, and she’d changed her mind. After all, her job meant traveling to exotic locales for fashion shows. She couldn’t have a child tying her down at home. Veronica had struck me the same way when I’d first met her—too caught up in herself to consider having children. But watching the ease with which she interacted with Connor made me wonder.
I slammed my palm into my thigh. Get yourself together, Linton. The woman shows a hint of humanity and you’re already planning a family with her. None of this makes up for the fact that she’s selfish and arrogant. This is probably all a scam to get you to agree to work with her again.
The problem was, I couldn’t figure out why. Beyond my money, which she clearly didn’t need, Veronica got nothing out of keeping me as a client. None of this made sense.
The clearing of a gritty throat brought me back to the present. A man held up his empty tray.
“Sorry.” I handed the guy his soup and crackers without really looking at him.
I took over both ladling and handing the food out as Veronica kept Connor company. When his father had gotten his meal and returned to their table, Veronica greeted him and stood to give him his seat.
She returned to my side and caught me staring. “What?”
“Nothing. I’m just trying to figure you out.”
“Good luck with that.” She laughed. It was a breezier laugh than I’d heard from her before, like she no longer forced it from her diaphragm. “Let me know when you do.”
“I will.”
We continued serving, finding a rhythm between us.
Ladle, pass, crackers, tray.
Veronica’s smile and cracker generosity made a lot of people’s day. Connor and his dad finished their food, and the little boy ran behind the counter to throw his arms around Veronica’s waist. She grunted at the impact, then tousled the boy’s hair.
Veronica bent onto one knee and zipped his frayed coat. “Happy Thanksgiving, Connor. Here, take some extras with you.” She filled his pockets with crackers and held her finger to her lips. “Shhh . . . don’t tell, okay?”
The boy nodded and hugged her neck before joining his dad at the door and disappearing into the cold evening.
“I saw that,” I said.
“What?” Her eyes widened.
“You have a heart. Admit it.”
“Never.” She tried to keep her lips straight, but the corners arched up against her will.
“Ronnie?” A gravelly female voice made us both start. A woman with stringy gray hair who I’d never seen before stood on the other side of the counter, her eyes fastened on Veronica. “Ronnie? Is that you?”
Veronica jumped back from the counter like it had turned into a pile of secondhand shoes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her voice came out barely a whisper, and her body shook from head to toe.
“It is you,” the woman said. “I’d know you anywhere. Ronnie, it’s me.”
“My name isn’t Ronnie!” Veronica shouted. “Stop calling me that!” She pulled at the strings of the apron and tugged it over her head, not even noticing as it caught on her hair and pulled out her ponytail. “I’m sorry, Bax. I just remembered I have an appointment soon. I have to go.”
Grabbing her purse from under the counter where Rickie had stashed it, Veronica sprinted across the dining room and wrenched open the door. It slammed behind her.
I stared after her, then turned to the woman. “You know her?”
“Know who?” the woman asked.
“Veronica. Ronnie, you called her.”
“Sorry.” She shook her head. “I don’t know anyone by that name.”
“But you just said . . . Never mind.”
I studied the woman as I handed her a bowl of soup. Streaks of black peppered the gray hair sticking out of her blue hat. And those green eyes and pert nose looked so familiar. It was almost like—
Numbness crept through my limbs. “Oh my God. You’re Veronica’s mother!”
The woman smiled at me, her face a blank canvas showing no emotion. “Sorry, honey. You must be mistaken. I don’t have any children.”
“Are you sure?” I pressed. “You look so much like her.”
“Bax.” Rickie appeared at my side. “Why don’t you let me take over your station? You should go after your friend. She left her clothes behind and everything.”
I took the hint and backed away from the counter, my eyes still on the woman as she moved down the line. None of this made any sense. The way Veronica had freaked out, and how the woman seemed to know her. But she claimed she’d never had children. Maybe she was a distant relative Veronica was ashamed of or something. It was certainly possible Veronica fled due to sheer embarrassment she knew a homeless woman.
It was cold for November, and I cursed myself for not bringing my coat when I stepped out of the shelter. I blew into my hands and scanned the street. No sign of Veronica. Of course, she was probably halfway out of the state by now. I pulled out my phone and sent her a quick text before heading back inside.
The repetition of serving and cleaning dishes for the rest of the evening helped me get my mind off everything. By the time Rickie told me to go, my feet were numb and my head was dizzy with exhaustion. Rickie bagged up Veronica’s clothes and gave me a foil-wrapped plate of food before wishing me a happy Thanksgiving and sending me on my way.
I bent my head against the chill and headed toward the Metro. A flash of silver to my left caught my eye as I turned a corner. That looked a hell of a lot like Veronica’s fancy car. I peered inside and spotted a pair of Chanel sunglasses. Yup. Definitely her car. And man, was she lucky it was still here in one piece. That meant she was still around here, too.
Not a lot was open at this time on the night before a holiday, but the lights of a bar across the street were practically a beacon for her location. I hesitated before checking it out. Maybe she’d already taken a cab home. Or, a nagging voice said in my head, maybe she’s inside drinking herself sick and will try to drive home. Shit. I gritted my teeth. I was freaking exhausted and just wanted to go home, eat cold turkey with my fingers, then curl up with Ari and sleep for a decade. But I had to make sure she was okay.
I hea
ded inside, squinting through the darkness and searching for Veronica. She sat at the bar, her head bent low and a shot of something in her hand. Pushing through the tables, I plopped into the empty seat beside her.
“I’m not lookeeng foradate,” she slurred without looking at me.
“Good,” I said. “But I think you could use a ride.”
She lifted her emerald eyes, which were red and bloodshot. “Baxxterrrr . . . you found me. Butyoucan’tdrive. Youdon’t haveacar.”
“I have a license. Come on, Veronica. Give me your keys and I’ll take you home.”
“No.” She downed the shot of brown liquid. “I don’t wannagohome. Home is looooneleee.”
“Yeah, well, I think you’ve had enough to drink. I don’t care if you want to go or not. We’re leaving.”
I stood and tugged her hand.
“I said no.” She ripped her arm from my grasp. “Whyyyy don’t mennn know what thatword meeeans?”
I sighed through a clenched jaw. “I have no clue what you’re talking about, but all I’m trying to do is take you home. I could be sitting in bed with my dog right now, watching TV and eating leftover turkey. Instead, I came over here to make sure you’re okay—which you clearly aren’t—and now I’m going to see you get home safe.”
“I don’tneed your help, Hero. I cann gethome onmy own.”
Veronica hopped off the stool, tripping over her large sneakers and stumbling into me.
“Whoa, you’ve definitely reached your limit.” I held out my palm. “Give me your car keys. I’ll drive.”
“No. Goaway, Baxxxxxter.”
She pushed past me, clutching her purse as she staggered out of the bar. Despite her state, she moved quickly, and I found myself almost jogging to stay with her. A beeping sound pierced the night as she remotely unlocked her car.
I jumped in front of her before she could open the door. “No, Veronica. There is no way in hell I’m letting you drive. If you don’t want me to drive, I’ll call you a cab. Or you can take the Metro. But you are not getting behind the wheel.”
Dealing in Deception Page 9
