“And?” I try not to tense up more. I’m always careful with clients, but you never know.
He finishes typing whatever the fuck it is he’s typing, takes his time while my heart booms in my chest.
“You’re clean,” he says.
I slump against the desk. “Jesus, man. Couldn’t you just say so from the start? Say, Riot, your blood tests came back clean. Easy. Repeat after me: Riot, your blood—”
“Very funny.”
Yeah, I know. “Anyway, you brought me here for this? Couldn’t you tell me over the phone?”
“There’s something else.” He shuffles some papers on the desk and I resist the urge to roll my eyes, because, really?
“What? Planning on telling me anytime today?”
“Got anger management issues, Riot?”
Fuck, he’s an asshole. My hands curl into fists. Fuck him for being the boss’s nephew and thinking he can do whatever he wants.
“So Mari Oakes asked for you again.”
“No way.” I push off the desk.
“Yes way. You can’t refuse a client, and you know it.”
“Sure I can if she breaks the rules. Told you what happened last time.”
“Afraid of her, Riot?”
“Fuck no. But like I told you then, I don’t do men and they don’t do me. Period.”
“He didn’t do you, though, did he?”
“No, he hit me. I don’t play with men, period. We done?”
“You’re going to take this appointment, or you’re out of job.”
I glare at him. “The fuck you say.”
“Mr. Kayman said so.” The boss. “She’s a friend of his.”
Oh, fuck me sideways.
“Fine.” I turn to go, because I can’t afford to lose this job, not now, and Johnson clears his throat.
“One more thing. Two guys came looking for you.”
“What guys?”
“How would I know? They said they wanted to talk to you.”
I freeze. “Did they…?” I swallow hard, my throat going dry. “Did they have tattoos?”
“Tats? I didn’t notice.” He frowns. “Does it matter?”
More than he’ll ever know.
“Never mind. Let me know if they come by again, will you?”