Page 24 of Two-Step
She sighs, and then I hear her sandals slap down the steps, and for a moment she’s standing beside me.
“Here,” she says, thrusting something between us. I look down. It’s a protein bar. She waves it at the bum. “Take that. You look hungry.”
The bum frowns, but he snatches it from her.
I glance at Iris to see her frowning, her mouth pinched in concern. I know there’s no shortage of beggars and deadbeats in L.A., but maybe her people keep her insulated from them because she’s looking at this guy—this filthy, festering junkie—like he’s an abandoned puppy.
“Go on,” I nudge. “It’s okay.”
She moves and for an instant, the guy tries to follow.
“Nope.” I grip a handful of his shirt, and he must know not to fight.
“But—” He shrugs, his face screwed up in frustration. “What’m I supposed to do with this?” He rattles the protein bar like it’s a piece trash. “How’s this gonna help me?”
Iris flinches as she hurries toward the Uber, but, luckily, she doesn’t turn back.
“Eat it,” I tell him. “And maybe get some help. There’s a clinic on Vermilion Street.”
We both watch Iris climb into the rideshare, and the driver wastes no time pulling away.
“Will she be back?” the bum asks, sounding hopeful.
“No.” And with the word I give him a little shake. “And you won’t be either if you know what’s good for you.”
He shrugs out of my grip with a sour look. “Nobody tells Flip what to do.”
I square my shoulders. “Well, Flip, nobody comes back here after I send them away.”
He huffs, takes a few steps backward, and then mutters something under his breath. I roll my eyes.
He stands there for a minute, looking wronged and bitter, and then his head dips. “You wouldn’t give me a fiver to leave, would ya.”
I shake my head. “Nope.”
He looks down, sees the protein bar in his fist, and holds it up. “What about this? You hungry? I’ll give it to ya for a dollar.”
I almost laugh, but it’s really too sad to laugh. “Get outta here, Flip.”
He makes for his bike, and I head to my truck.Noncis going to wonder what happened to us. Not to mention Iris’s entourage. But she’s probably already texted them. I picture her on the phone in the back of that Uber, bitching about me, no doubt.
I start my truck with that image, searching for my own irritation, but I can’t find it. In its place is a surprising relief. Relief that she’s in the back of an Uber. Relief that I didn’t leave her when she told me to.
Chapter Seven
IRIS
I pressmyself against the back seat of the Uber with a shudder. All I can do is pray that Beau Landry doesn’t say anything about what just happened to Ramon. And Moira can never hear about it.
It’s Ramon’s job to keep me safe, to get me from place to place. He’d be upset if he knew. But if Moira found out that not only did he leave me to ride with a stranger but that a vagrant accosted me while I waited for an Uber, she’d freak the hell out. She’d insist I fire him.
I never would, but I don’t want that battle. Not now. Not ever.
Moira already disapproves of how close Ramon and I are. How he’s my friend—true and trusted—not just an employee. She says being friends with people who work for you is a fast track to getting screwed.
I wonder how that applies to beingrelatedto people who work for you.
I close my eyes and heave a sigh of relief. Thank God Beau Landry stuck around until my ride showed. I don’t think that guy would have hurt me—not really, but he might not have been above snatching my purse for whatever cash it held. And then I wouldn’t have been able to keep it from Moira because I’d have to replace my ID, my credit cards, my SAG card, and everything else. She’d demand an explanation.
