I just wanted to make sure she wasn't putting on a front, and dying a little bit inside.
"Oh my God, what?" she snapped, tossing down the pen she'd been writing with, holding up both hands at me.
"What what?" I asked.
"You've been staring at me for like ten minutes," she told me, brows raising.
"Maybe I just like looking at you."
"Not with the pity-eyes, you don't," she said, pushing away from the kitchen table.
"Pity eyes," I repeated, realizing that was probably exactly what it looked like to her. Because, well, there was no nice way to say it, but Danny didn't have a lot of experience with emotions. So she could easily mistake something like concern with pity because she was programmed to only recognize the emotions that might make her need to defend herself against some sort of condescension or disrespect. "I would never look at you with pity, babe," I told her.
"Then how you were looking at me?" she asked, grabbing a mug for coffee.
"Let's call it concern."
"About what?"
"You."
"What about me?"
"I'm worried you're not as okay with the club shit as you seem to be."
"I expected it to kind of sneak up and bitch-slap me too," she admitted, leaning back against the counter with her coffee cup. "But I'm really just... okay with it. I might be spiraling now if I didn't have some sort of purpose," she added, waving toward the stacks of papers on the table. "I've always needed an outlet for my, admittedly, sometimes unhealthy amount of ambition. And the club was really the only choice when was been younger."
"Makes sense," I agreed.
"With a little time and space, I'm not sure if I ever really wanted the club. I wanted the things I thought I would get if I got to be president. I wanted the respect and the feeling of pride at accomplishing a really hard goal. It was never about the club itself. It was about proving my dad and his men wrong. It was about being successful at something. It was about making something for myself. I still have that. It's different," she admitted, shrugging. "But it is just as challenging. And it's something no one can swoop in and take away from me," she added.
Right there.
That was a tiny hint of vulnerability.
She didn't give that to anyone else.
And I liked it more than was probably normal when she trusted me with those bits.
"I can help, you know," I said. "With the bar," I clarified. "I went through all the shit you're going to go through with renovations and inspections and food safety classes. All that shit. Been there. Can offer some insight."
"I'm going to need all the help I can get," she said, and I knew her well enough to know that was her offhand way of accepting my offer of help. "What are your feelings on the apartments?" she asked.
"Rent them out for sure," I said, shrugging. "More income. Why would you pass up on that?"
"Andres was asking yesterday when I bumped into him at the gas station if he could have a room. For a safe house, it sounds like."
"Is that the favor he wants?" I asked. "For helping us with the body," I clarified.
"No. He sounds like he intends to pay for it. He just wanted to catch me early before they got snatched up. He seems to think they won't sit long once they are up for rentals."
"Above a bar where they don't have to worry as much about noise? Yeah, they won't stay empty long. And you can use that income to make upgrades or whatever you end up wanting to do."
"It's kind of hard to believe this is happening. I mean, I'd always planned to open the bar. I thought it would be a great way to keep the IRS off my back. But it was more like a year or two year plan. It's crazy that it is starting to happen now."
If I knew anything about the woman, she would have the plans finalized and submitted within another week. Then as soon as her brother and her guys were out to their new clubhouse—which was just a block down the street—she would have the contractors in to get the ball rolling.
She was going to get impatient.
She wasn't lying about her ambition.
She still felt the need to prove herself.
And, in her mind, she couldn't do that until she had a successful bar running.
Luckily for her, she had some cash. Money talked. And she wasn't going to need it for living expenses since she was crashing with me.
We hadn't even really discussed it. It was just how it happened. She came home with me after the longest night of both our lives. And she just stayed.
In my house, in my bed, in my arms.
Which was exactly where I wanted her.