Chapter Four
Baxter
“Shoplifting!” I said for the third time, my tone growing more incredulous with every repetition.
“That’s what I said,” Cade replied calmly.
The dark shadows beneath Cade’s eyes suggested I hadn’t been the only one who’d spent the night reliving their personal hell. Which was projection at its finest, given that I knew nothing about Cade beyond his interactions with Calisto, and Calisto was the most easygoing of the three necromancers.
“It doesn’t make any sense,” I said. “You charge clients the absolute earth.”
“I charge a reasonable rate for the incredibly specialized services we provide,” Cade said smoothly. “Enough that all employees earn a good wage and that I, as the founder of this business, make a reasonable profit. We’re a business, not a charity.” He frowned. “Why am I explaining myself to him?”
I crossed my arms over my chest. I’d chosen not to sit, and Cade hadn’t pushed the matter.
“You know what I’m getting at. By the time he’s paid me to screen potential customers for sticky-fingered habits, he may as well let them take what they want.
It’s a supermarket, not a jewelry store.
What are they going to steal that’s worth that much? ”
“It’s the principle of the thing,” Cade said. “He sent me statistical analysis showing a forty-five percent increase in lost revenue over the past five years.”
“Why do I have so many difficult employees? Why can’t they just say yes, sir and get on with it?”
“Yes, sir,” I said, unable to help myself.
His reaction was immediate, dark brows snapping together. “Get out of my head.”
I refused to be embarrassed. He knew I was psychic. He hired me because I was psychic. We were only having this conversation because I was psychic. Therefore, he could hardly blame me for tapping into the conversation beyond what he said out loud. “It still seems like a waste of time.”
“It’s a paid job,” Cade said. “He’s expecting someone today, and Kendrick, Leo, and Silas are all busy. Do you want me to tell him he needs to wait until one of them is available?”
There was an edge to Cade’s voice that told me answering yes would be a mistake. I wished I’d slept more. Or had more caffeine. Ideally both. “No, of course not. I’ll go. When?” The slight lift of Cade’s brow answered without words. “Now,” I said. “Right.”
“Asher will fill you in on all the details.”
Great. Another conversation with Asher.
When I got there, it was worse than I’d imagined. It wasn’t even a nice supermarket. It was shabby and run-down, with aisles so narrow two people couldn’t pass without playing the, you first, no, after you game.
After a brief conversation with the harried store manager, who seemed even less enthused about my presence than I was, I stationed myself in a corner and did my best not to fall asleep.
The worst part was having to tune into everyone’s tedious thoughts.
I could have lived without knowing how the gray-haired lady in the pink fluffy jumper came out in a rash if she used cheaper toilet paper to wipe, or that the bearded man with the beer belly barely contained by his T-shirt bought four boxes of cereal because he picked out the marshmallow pieces and ate them separately.
Three hours crawled past with no one having a single criminal thought.
After the first hour, the staff forgot I existed.
Not even the manager spared me a glance.
It was like being dead again, which was possibly the most depressing thought I could have had.
I plucked a dusty bottle of vodka from the shelf and studied it, the temptation to crack it open and take a swig almost overwhelming.
If I were invisible, no one would see me do it.
Besides, I’d been standing there like a mannequin for hours. I deserved a reward.
“Fuck! He’s hot.”
I jerked my head up to find myself being blatantly cruised by a blond guy in his mid-twenties.
He wore a brown leather jacket, black jeans that looked painted on, and sported a Celtic neck tattoo that covered most of the left side of his throat.
Either there was no shirt underneath the jacket or it was cut so low it couldn’t be seen.
It left a generous amount of bare chest on display.
And what a chest it was. He didn’t look away when our eyes met, offering a crooked smile instead.
Still holding my gaze, he walked toward me.
No—strutted. There was no other word for it.
He stopped closer than polite society dictated and said nothing, just stared.
Up close, he smelled of leather, tobacco and an underlying musk that had my dick sitting up and saying hello.
Calisto would have said he looked like trouble, and he would have been right.
“Blade,” he said, plucking the vodka bottle from my grasp and inspecting the label.
“Is that your name?” I asked, “Or what you came here to buy?”
He pointed the bottle at me. “Funny guy.”
I tried to tune into his thoughts, but his mind was refreshingly empty. “Baxter.”
He nodded, spun on his heel, and headed for the counter, pulling a note from his pocket to pay for the vodka.
I watched him the whole time, anticipating his next move.
It turned out it was to head for the door.
Confused, I watched him stop just short of it, then circle back to stand in front of me again.
Still too close.
“I’m going to go home and drink this,” he said.
I glanced at my watch. “It’s barely past lunchtime.” Not that anyone had offered me lunch. Or even suggested I take a break.
Blade smiled. It was a slow, sinful smile that promised a good time. “I live around the corner. Small place. Oven. Fridge. Bed.” He shook the vodka bottle. “Plenty in here. Enough to share.”
You couldn’t accuse Blade of beating around the bush. No need to read his thoughts to know exactly what he wanted. “I’m working.”
He laughed. “You? In a place like this. Oh, pur-lease. You and this place don’t go together.” He backed away, somehow turning even that into a strut. “Shame. We could’ve had a lot of fun.”
I weighed my options. Option one: stand in a corner like a forgotten mannequin for several more hours, bombarded by people’s inconsequential and, frankly, mind-numbing thoughts. Option two: vodka and Blade. An opportunity to lose myself for a few hours.
I knew what I should do. I also knew what I wanted to do.
He was still retreating, step by slow step. Thirty more seconds and he’d be out the door, the choice made for me.
“Come on. Take the bait. You know you want to.”
It felt good to be wanted. Even if it was only as a fuck buddy for a few hours.
I glanced toward the counter. The married manager and the young, pretty shelf-stacker were flirting up a storm while there were no customers.
They weren’t having an affair yet, but judging by their thoughts, it was only a matter of time.
Decision made, I closed the distance in long strides. “I’m taking my lunch break,” I called over my shoulder without looking back.
If anyone answered, I was already too far away to hear them.