Chapter 19
HARLOW
"We have a bit of a problem." Gina stuck her head into the kitchen and grimaced. "There's a customer out here who would like to speak to the chef."
"Did they say what about?" I washed and dried my hands before before tossing the towel into the laundry basket.
She spread her hands to either side in a shrug. "He doesn't seem happy." He must be bad if she was looking irritated. Gina Lopez was the cranky customer whisperer. Whatever problem people had, she always had a way of soothing things over. Almost always. Some people couldn't be placated.
They don't say customer service is difficult for nothing.
"Okay," I said with a sigh. "I have a few minutes." I glanced back to make sure Erin was okay with me stepping out before I headed over to the table Gina indicated.
A man a couple of years older than me sat by himself near the window. He had a menu in his hands and a scowl on his face.
"Afternoon, is there a problem?" I asked. Might as well cut right to the chase.
"My brother told me about this place," he said, his gaze raking up my body until he finally found where my eyes were. "What's good?"
He insisted I come out here so he could ask me that? At least he wasn't a cop. Whatever his gripe was, he wasn't trying to pin anything on me.
"It's all good," I said easily. "Depends what you're in the mood for.
" I crossed my arms and regarded him. He was handsome enough in an arrogant sort of way.
Wavy dark hair, three or four days of stubble on his chin.
A piercing in his eyebrow above his right eye.
For some reason, that one seemed bluer than the other. His left eye was more blue-green.
"What's the most popular dish?" He closed his menu and placed it on the table beside his fork.
"The spaghetti Bolognese," I said. "Made fresh every day." I was starting to regret the decision to leave Taylor-Francis' body back at the hotel. This guy could have used a heaping bowl of WTF, with a sprinkle of Parmesan cheese.
"What do you have that's not pasta?" He placed his forearms on the table, displaying skin covered in ink.
"You know this is an Italian restaurant, right?" I asked. "Pasta is kinda our thing. But we also have garlic bread, salad and risotto. The risotto is rice, not pasta." In case he didn't know.
"Salad," he echoed, his lip turned up in a sneer. "Do I look like a rabbit?"
"Rabbits can mate multiple times a day, so I'd say no, you don't," I said sweetly.
Archer would be proud of me for spouting off a fact like that. Although, he'd have a better idea of the exact numbers. As retorts went, it would do.
His sneer turned into a smirk. "Babe, if you think I can't fuck a bunch of times a day, you better think again."
"If you say so," I said. "I prefer a man who knows what he's doing once."
He snorted. "I bet you date the kind of guys who don't know where to find the clit."
I matched his snort. "You'd lose that bet. Now, what can I get you to eat?" Did we have any meatballs left from last time? I didn't think we did, unfortunately. Shame, I'd enjoy watching him eat, oblivious to what, or who, he was consuming.
"Jules, you made it." Cass stepped through the door, a smile on his face like he was actually pleased to see this clown.
"Of course I did, bro." Jules half-stood and reached out to shake his brother's hand. "I was just about to tell this chick what she can cook for me." He dropped back down into his chair.
"I'd tell you to make your own sandwich, but you can stay out of my kitchen." I accepted the side hug from Cass and let my lips linger over his when he kissed me.
"Seems like you didn't tell me everything." Jules glared at both of us.
I ignored him and said, "I have some ravioli I think you'll love, and I've been experimenting with flavors for a new kind of milkshake if you're game to try."
"That sounds perfect." Cass smiled softly. "Thank you." His cheeks turned pink, but he leaned in to press his nose to mine. "Jules, you should try her ravioli. It's so good."
I wanted to say Jules could stay the hell away from my ravioli, but I'd serve them both some pasta. "Two bowls of ravioli and a milkshake, coming up."
"You aren't still drinking that shit, are you?" This time, Jules' lip curl was aimed at his brother. "I'll take water. I'm careful about what I put in my body."
Once again, I regretted not having any of Taylor-Francis in my fridge.
I gave Jules a smile and said, "Funny, me too." None of his body parts were going anywhere near mine, especially my pussy. How did a guy like Cass have an asshole for a brother? I assumed when nature gave out personalities, they gave Jules' portion to Cass.
"You say that now." Jules looked cocky, although I got the impression the previous part of our conversation sank in. The bit about his brother knowing where to find my clit.
"I'll go and fix your lunch." I kissed Cass' cheek, rolled my eyes at Jules and headed back into the kitchen.
"What was that about?" Gina whispered when I stepped back into the kitchen.
"Entitlement," I said. "Apparently that's Cass' brother."
"He's sorta hot." She peered past me, her head cocked as she appraised him.
"He's all yours," I said darkly.
I grabbed a couple of bowls and started to fill them with ravioli and sauce, while Erin made a milkshake.
I was tempted to put more food in Cass' bowl than in Jules', but I decided not to be petty.
The guy had the look of someone who'd take a photo and post it to social media to demonstrate my apparent imperfection.
It was better not to give people like that any ammunition.
"Judging by the way he was looking at you, he doesn't know I exist." Gina picked up the bowls in one hand and the milkshake in the other and carried them over to the table.
I watched as both of them stabbed ravioli with their forks and brought them to their mouths, fully expecting Jules to spit his out or complain. Instead, he chewed and swallowed, and reluctantly shrugged a shoulder before continuing to eat.
One point to Harlow St. James. Two if you count my rabbit retort.
Three if you count the way Cass sounded like he was having an orgasm right now at the taste of his lunch.
If he kept doing that, he was going to make me ruin my panties. Not just because it sounded hot, but because I liked when people appreciated my cooking. What can I say, good taste is attractive.
Why did he ask his brother to meet him here though?
He wanted justice for his other brother, but we were supposed to meet Archer and Boner once the lunch service was over.
We had plans to make and things to decide.
This was the best place to do it. No one would question us gathering here, and no one could listen in or watch us without me knowing.
At some point, I might let the guys see my apartment.
I didn't think they'd be shocked by what they saw there, but at the same time it was still my sanctuary.
Besides, Cass might not be ready to see my torture box.
That was definitely something I'd have to work up to. The list of those was adding up.
I shook my head and went back to finishing the last few dishes for the lunch order, and preparing things for dinner.
"Are you okay?" Erin asked, shooting me a concerned look. "You seem tired today."
I glanced over to her and smiled. "I'm fine. I didn't get much sleep last night."
I got maybe an hour before I had to get back up and come in here.
I made a mental note to plan more murders for a Monday, so I could sleep in on Tuesday.
Of course, when a Thursday night was your only option, you had to take it.
If we hadn't, Sable would have suffered for longer.
Potentially much longer, depending on when another opportunity presented itself.
According to a quick search online, Sable Taylor-Francis was distraught at the death of her husband, and was helping police. They had no immediate suspects, but a long list of his enemies. A man like that wouldn't be mourned for long.
Of course, the same could be said about me. Sure, I was getting close to three attractive men, and Gina and Erin cared about me, but they were the closest I had to family. If anything happened to me, they'd find new jobs and crushes, and get on with their lives.
That thought was depressing. Just because serial killers were supposed to be loners, didn't mean I wanted to be one myself.
A loner, that was. I had no issue with being a serial killer.
Okay, maybe one issue. I was so good at covering my tracks, the police hadn't given me a fancy name. Nor had I given myself one.
What would I go with if I did? Everything I could think of seemed cliché to me.
Or downright silly. Avenging Angel sounded fancy, but I doubted the police would use something so positive.
More like the Monster of Meatballs. That definitely sat squarely in the silly category.
So did the Butcher of Bolognese, although that did have a ring to it. Monster of Milkshakes? Also too silly.
"I need to learn how to do more, so you can go home and get some rest if you need to," Erin said. "That's what I'm here for, right?"
I patted her shoulder. "You will. I'll be okay. I'll get some rest before the dinner service." More than likely, I wouldn't. Not with all the plans we had to make. What was it they say? Sleep is for the weak? I'd catch up with rest later.
She gave me a fierce look. "You better." She even shook her finger at me, as if she wasn't younger than me, and my employee.
I laughed. "Thank you for being sweet. I appreciate it. Now, shouldn't you be washing dishes?" I raised my eyebrows and gave her my best 'boss babe' expression. The one that said, 'I adore you, but get back to work.'
That earned me a sideways look, but she hurried over to stack dishes into the dishwasher and wash the pots.
The definition of a never ending story. Some days it felt like we washed twenty plates, only to have another fifty turn up, needing to be scrubbed.
That was a good thing, it kept the restaurant open, but I'd like to hire more staff some day.
Another chef so I could take time off. Another server and someone who could just wash dishes.
I'd have to sit down with my accountant and crunch some numbers.
I glanced out to the sitting area to see Jules' gaze on me. He seemed to be half-listening to whatever Cass was saying, the rest of his attention focused on trying to figure me out.
Good luck with that, I told him silently.
Like his brother, I was more complicated than I was at face value. With layers someone like him wouldn't be able to imagine, much less see. Let him look, let him dig, he wasn't going to find anything.
His eyes narrowed slowly as if he was reading my thoughts now. He lifted his chin and turned his face away, back to his brother. His posture relaxed, but something about him gave me chills.