“Your shifts this weekend. Twelve to nine?”
“Yes, but –”
“I’ll be at your place at eleven,” he declared and I blinked.
“Um… what?” I whispered.
“Mara, I’m speakin’ English.”
“But, I –”
Mitch finished for me. “Need right now to get your head out of your ass.”
Oh hell. Not this again.
My arms uncrossed and my hands went to my hips.
“Mitch –”
“And, I’ll add, clue in,” Mitch went on.
“Seriously, that is not nice and you have no right to speak to me that way,” I snapped.
“You got a living, breathing, responsible human being standin’ right in front of you offerin’ to do you a favor. Not a small one, like changin’ a washer, but a big one, like makin’ sure those kids are safe, they eat somethin’ and they get to bed on time. Now any person who does not have their head up their ass and isn’t entirely fuckin’ clueless would take up that offer ‘cause kids need to eat, be safe and get to bed on time. You, for whatever twisted, fucked up reason, are gearin’ up to throw that offer in my face. So, even though I know I’m wastin’ my breath, I’ll still advise you to get your head outta your fuckin’ ass, clue in and accept my offer.”
I glared at him and before my temper caught up to my brain, I bit out, “Fine.”
His eyebrows went up. “Fine?”
“Yes, fine,” I clipped. “Although I’m not all fired up to let a big, fat jerk look after them, you’re right. I haven’t been able to sort out anyone to look after them while I’m working. I need someone to look after them while I’m working and although you’re a big, fat jerk to me, you aren’t to them and Billie likes you. So, fine. Thanks,” I expressed my gratitude acidly. “If you could watch them this weekend that would be a huge help.”
After I finished he stared at me. I glared at him.
Then he said, “Great. I’ll be there at eleven.”
“Perfect.” My tone was still injected with acid.
He didn’t move. I didn’t either.
Then for some reason the blankness went out of his face and his eyes started to warm.
“Mara –”
I shook my head and started to the door, saying, “Oh no you don’t. You can’t be mean to me and then be nice because being mean makes you feel shit because you’re usually a nice guy.” I stopped and put my hand on the handle of the door and my eyes hit his. “It’s okay to be mean to me, Mitch. Even people that are nice all the time are mean to people like me. I’m used to it. Go with it. Just don’t ever be mean to them.” I jerked my head toward the showroom, so caught in executing my dramatic tirade that I didn’t notice his expression had changed completely. Thus I didn’t notice how it had changed. “They don’t deserve it and the reason I took all this on is to make certain they don’t ever get to the place that they do. Now, are we done here?”
He was again studying me closely.
Then he said quietly, “I don’t think we are.”
“Well, I disagree,” I retorted, turned the handle and without looking back, I marched right out.
Chapter Eight
Spring Deluxe
I was no more than two steps into the showroom when Mr. Pierson materialized out of thin air, arm extended to some point behind me.
I stopped and turned as he passed me and I watched him capture Mitch’s hand and pump it zealously.
“Hello there!” he cried with manic sociability. “I’m Bob Pierson, owner of Pierson’s Mattress and Bed.” He let Mitch go while I blinked because Mr. Pierson wasn’t a stranger to the showroom floor but he’d never acted like this. I was so deep in my surprise, I wasn’t able to do anything about Mr. Pierson curling an arm tight at my waist and hauling me into his side before he continued, “And I’ve been this delightful little lady’s very lucky boss for the last seven years!” He turned his head to look at me then back to Mitch before he finished grandly, “My Mara could sell a mattress to a bat she’s so good at it.” He gave me an affectionate squeeze that was so affectionate, it rocked my whole body. “Aren’t you, dear?”
“Um…” I mumbled.
“Mitch Lawson,” Mitch saved me by introducing himself in return.
Mr. Pierson nodded. “I hear you’re Mara’s neighbor.”
“Yeah,” Mitch replied, his eyes no longer expressionless but now filled with amusement.
“Good neighbor to have, the po-lice detective who worked with the FBI to sweep the streets of Denver clean,” Mr. Pierson declared, my head turned slowly to him and he kept talking. “Read all about that triple bust in the papers, son, saw your picture too. Bet your parents are real proud. I know, I was them, I would be.”