It will be? She seems pretty confident. Wyatt didn’t stay last night. He said he needed to think about things. Maybe she was one of those things.
A pinch of jealousy ignites through me like wild fire. I wish I didn’t care. I wish I never hung my heart out on the line just to have someone like her hack it to pieces. This is exactly why love sucks so damn bad. If you’re not careful, it will gut you when you least expect it. It always does me.
Baya and Will sit huddled in the corner, and I head over to join them.
“Rags to Riches has filled two hundred orders in the last week and a half alone.” Will offers a fist bump, but I don’t meet him. “Hey, we’re making bank. Thanks to my app we’ve tripled sales. In the last three days it’s brought in sixty percent of sales. So pull that stick out of your ass.” He reverts his attention back to his laptop. “Look, I’m sorry things have gone to shit for you. I don’t know what else you want me to say. I told you I didn’t do it.”
“Who else would have access to my passwords?”
“I don’t know, but I suggest you make them a little harder to guess.” His fingers stab into the keyboard as if he were genuinely frustrated with my lack of belief in whatever spews from his lips.
Baya scratches her nails softly over my hand like petting a cat. “Who else could possibly know you that intimately?”
“My mother. Jemma.” I pause a moment considering this. “She is a wild card, but I doubt she’d ever do something so low, plus she loves the idea of me with Wyatt.” I wrinkle my nose toward Will as a semi-apology. Not sure why I feel I owe him one because I don’t. After all, he cheated on me with my own partial relation, Cat… “Cat Alice.” I slam my hand down over the table so hard, half the room jumps to attention. “She did this, didn’t she?” I glare at Will.
He tips his head back and closes his eyes.
“That’s all the confirmation I need.” I pull my things together and bolt out of my seat.
“I didn’t say shit!” Will calls after me. “I’m fucking Switzerland!”
Coward.
Coward’s are Switzerland.
* * *
I send Jemma a 911 text, and she tracks down Cat Alice to the Chicken Fried Filet. Jemma is a freaking sleuth when she needs to be. She managed to bust those cheating ex’s of hers all by her lonesome. Hey, she should totally consider this as a side business! Jemma’s Cheatin’ Hearts Club. I bet she’d make a killing—from the ex’s begging her not to divulge any info.
By the time I show up at the restaurant, Jemma is already inside.
God. I give a slight wave to my sister. I can practically see the steam coming from her ears. Her fists are planted solid into her hips, and, judging by the leather pants and chains wrapped around her waist, she looks as if she’s about to help me take on Cat Alice in a good old fashioned beat down. I hope she left the brass knuckles at home. When I gifted her those last Christmas, it was tongue-in-cheek. The only reason I was able to purchase those more-than-slightly illegal baubles is because they were labeled as paperweights. Hopefully the only thing Jemma is guilty of so far is putting in an order for a chicken fried burger. I’d hate to give Cat Alice the leg up by giving her a chance to prepare for my wrath. I want to catch her off guard, throw her off balance, then kick her in those perfectly veneered teeth of hers while she’s on her knees. After all, that’s her favorite position. She didn’t get the nickname “Bob” for nothing.
“Morning sunshine!” Mom is the first to both catch me off guard and greet me. I didn’t even see her when I walked in. Had I known she were here, I would have rethought this scenario, but, it’s too late, my blood is pumping, and my fingers are twitching to skin a cat alive.
All I can see is red and Jemma, never a good combination. I give a quick glance around as if coming to. The dining room is sparse with patrons. It’s a wonder this place stays in business, but, for the sake of my mother, I hope they do.
“Morning,” I chirp trying to act casual. The reality is, Will most likely already gave Cat the head’s up.
“What’s it going to be?” Cat Alice snarls into the keyboard as she types in her cashier code. She looks her usual ornery self. Her dark berry lipstick looks caustic against her ashen skin. Her hair is spun up in a beehive, and her eyes are lined thick with black kohl. Cat Alice is sporting her signature raccoon look, still trying to make vermin the new trend in face fashion. Scratch that, she is vermin. Suddenly everything makes so much sense. Her fingernail polish is badly chipped, and she’s sporting a chipped front tooth to match. That permanent scowl is plastered to her face, and just the sight of her turns my stomach.