Page 8 of Black Sheep
Drew
The next morning, I inhale the moneyed air of the Upper Ten as I cross the threshold into the foyer. Sir No Neck, whose name I don’t yet know, is standing in a big-and-tall-collection suit with his arms crossed.
At first, I think it’s a casual pose, at least until I see the subtle variation in the lines of his suit. Nope, his arms aren’t crossed to look casual. He’s probably able to draw two pistols from his discreet shoulder holsters faster than I could duck to miss the bullets.
“Ms. Carson,” he says in a voice deeper than the ocean, with Brooklyn vividly coloring his speech. “Welcome to the Upper Ten. If you ever need something, you let me know. I take care of things around here for Mr. Freeman.”
“Thank you, Mr. ...”
“No mister. Just Grice.”
Wanting to start insinuating myself with every single person I can, as soon as possible, I hold out my hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Grice. I’m Drew. That Ms. Carson business is too formal for me too.”
His bearlike paw closes around my proffered hand. “Nah. You’re a classy broad. Ms. Carson it is.”
As I smile, he gives my hand a shake gentler than I would have expected, and then releases me to open the door behind him.
“Give her hell. She’s all bark. You know the type.”
“What? Who?” I ask the question, but his attention is already on the next person walking through the entrance into the foyer.
With Grice’s cryptic remark on my mind, I step into the Upper Ten and pause to survey the empty lounge.
It’s a haven for rich men. Every wingback chair invites a man to sit down and drink a snifter of cognac and smoke a cigar, away from the hustle and bustle of the city streets sixteen stories below us. With its exclusive clientele, members of the Upper Ten don’t have to be worried about being bothered, regardless of whether they’re famous or notorious.
The tinge of lemon I detected yesterday is even stronger today, which I assume means the housekeeping crew has been through to keep the luxurious space meticulous.
“You’re late.”
A sharp tone cuts me from behind, and I spin around to face a tall, fit woman with a light brown lob as she stares daggers at me.
“I was supposed to be here at ten, right?”
I glance down at my watch, but forget I took it off because I didn’t think a waitress should be wearing an engraved Cartier timepiece without a solid explanation, andmy father gave it to me for graduating summa cum laude from journalism schoolwould be the absolute worst one to give. I try not to lie about stupid things, so even though I hate not wearing it, it’s tucked safely in my drawer at home. But still, I know from my last glance at my cell phone that I’m still at least ten minutes early. After being a reporter for years, I show up early everywhere.
“It’s nine forty-seven. All training meetings start at nine thirty, which means you’re late. Come on, you’ve got a lot to learn in a morning.” She spins on her shiny black heels and marches toward the panel where Cannon took me for my interview yesterday.
Give her hell. She’s all bark.Now I know exactly what Grice was talking about.
I also know that Cannon told me to be here at ten, but I’m not going to argue with the woman, especially since she walked away without introducing herself. I have to assume she’s Tanya, the head waitress, which means my new job is going to befabulous.
Stepping quickly to keep up with her as she disappears into the secret door, I slip inside and follow her down the hallway.
“Employee break room is right here.” She stops in front of the last door on the left. The one at the end of the hall is closed, and I wonder if the boss is inside.
The thought of seeing Cannon again sends a cavalcade of shivers running up and down my spine.Those are not shivers of anticipation. They’re dread, I tell myself.
The woman snaps her fingers, and I jerk my chin toward her.
“Pay attention, Carson.” She shoves through the door and points to a wall of wooden lockers. “You’re locker number seven. Don’t lose the key. Cannon hates to break out the bolt cutters.”
From her bitchy attitude, it’s obvious she doesn’t like me. Anyone could figure that out, but I don’t know what I did to earn her animosity.
“Got it.” I sweep by her, careful to keep a few inches between us, and make my way to locker number seven.
As I’m tucking my purse inside, she produces a set of keys out of her pocket and uses them to unlock a closet on the other wall. She yanks out two pristine white shirts.
“Try these both on. Choose whichever fits best but doesn’t leave your tits busting out. That’s not what we’re here for, get me?”
