Yeah, I’m lost.
Charity is one thing, but that makes zero sense.
It’s hard enough to reconcile this scene with the self-absorbed fiend from the coffeeshop and the prying tyrant at the office. But this is beyond anything I imagined.
Everything I thought I knew about this gorgeous, bad-tempered freak is officially upended.
I don’t need Eliza to read lips to know the homeless man isn’t impressed by this invitation. He lurches up and shoves Lincoln away with what looks like harsh words. Then he disappears inside the tent behind them and zips it up.
I glance at Eliza. “Ouch. Was he a dick about it when he invited the guy to come stay with him?”
She shakes her head slowly.
“He wasn’t. Not at all.”
“But—”
Eliza shrugs. “I don’t get it either.”
With an angry look, Lincoln picks up an old coffee can beside the tent and shoves a wad of bills in it before slamming the lid back on.
“He gives them money, too?”
“Looks like it,” Eliza whispers.
He puts his hand in front of his face like he’s keeping the sun out of his eyes and surveys the line of trees at the back of the park. When he turns our way, I duck down, even though I think—I hope—we’re too far away to see.
“Oh, crap. What’s he doing?” I whisper.
“Not sure,” she says.
But the second he starts toward us, panic.
“Did he see us? Eliza? There’s no reason for him to come this way...”
“I don’t think so.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve seen enough. Time for that bike ride!” I run back a few paces to grab my bike, hop on, and pedal as fast as I can through the trees to get the hell out of here.
I’m not even sure where I’m going. I just need to stay out of sight, to avoid being caught by Burns after I eavesdropped on such an intimate moment.
I barely remember to look back to see Eliza behind me, straining to catch up.
Monday morning, I drag myself out of bed and get dressed.
I’m about to bike to Sweeter Grind when I remember that’s not my job this week.
I can go straight to the office today, get to work, and—enjoy a visit to the principal’s office, apparently. One look at my phone has me frowning. It’s barely the buttcrack of dawn and Lincoln Burns is already in my texts, scolding me.
Come straight to my office when you arrive, he says. I have your breakfast. We need to talk.
Awesome.
What now? I send back, my fingers punching the screen.
Lincoln: We’ll talk when you get here.
Awesome again, staying mired in suspense.
Twenty minutes later, I get to the office as fast as my body can move those wheels. Anger is a hell of a workout.
Burns leans against his office door, filling the space like an annoyed bear protecting its den.
“Nevermore,” he says coldly. “Breakfast inside.”
“Thank you.” I give him the world’s fakest smile.
I walk into his office, brushing his massive chest as I slide past and hold in a sigh.
No bad case of the Mondays ever felt so dire.
He closes the door behind us and moves to his desk with a single word.
“Sit.”
“Your wish is my command,” I say flippantly, flopping down in the chair across from him. “What’s wrong now? You said my work was stellar.”
He slides my coffee and cinnamon roll across the table like some grizzled cop in the movies giving the hotshot rookie his badge.
“Your work is unimpeachable. That’s not why we’re here,” he tells me, pushing his massive hands against the desk.
He’s good at this whole intimidation act, I’ll give him that. Too bad for him that’s never really worked on me.
“Why are you so pissed then?” I ask.
“Pissed? Is that what you think?”
“Er—I’m not sure what we’re talking about,” I throw out, taking a huge bite of cinnamon roll heaven. Mostly so I have a reason to not look at him.
He opens his desk, pulls out a napkin, and slides it over.
“You have frosting on your mouth.”
While swallowing, I take the napkin cautiously and wipe my face, trying to decipher that look in his eyes. God, what is his deal today?
Is this about the park?
His nostrils flare as he draws in a deep breath and says, “For someone who doesn’t like people rummaging around in her personal life, you have no issue digging in mine. How interesting.”
Boom. Hammer, meet head.
The way he calls it interesting certainly feels like a cranial blow.
...so he might be a tad better at the whole intimidation schtick than I gave him credit for.
“Umm—you mean because I called you close to midnight on Friday?” I try, praying that’s it. “Look, bossman, I’m sorry. I thought it was fine because we just talked.”
“Do I hire dumbasses, Nevermore?” he grinds out.
I’m taken aback by the question and sit up straighter, mostly so I don’t rock back in my seat.
“Um, no?” I blink. “I’m not sure what you’re getting at...”