“That’s just it—she’s not here, and I can’t reach her.”

Libby stared at him for a long, uncomprehending moment, and he shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. Ricardo, a handsome, debonair, compact figure of a man who generally exuded competence, looked wholly uncomfortable.

“She’s not here?” Libby repeated slowly, not quite understanding. “Tina? Tina’s not here, is what you’re telling me right now?”

“Yes, Chef,” Ricardo said with a nod. “She left about forty minutes ago. She seemed upset.”

Forty minutes ago? Just after Harris had dropped by the office.

“And you tried calling her?”

“She’s not answering,” Ricardo said.

“Okay. I’ll try her; maybe she’s on an errand or something. Meantime, you figure out what to do about the napkins. You’re the manager—I’m sure you’ll find a solution.”

“Yes, Chef.” He turned away, and Libby followed him out and headed toward the office. Charlie looked up from her books with a quizzical smile, Clara fast asleep.

“Hey, Mrs. C. Clara’s fine. Sleeping like . . . well, like a baby,” the girl said with a soft laugh.

Libby nodded distractedly. Her eyes went to her baby’s sweet, peacefully sleeping face for confirmation before tracking around the office in search of some clue as to why Tina wasn’t there. “Did Tina say where she was going?”

Charlie’s eyes looked troubled at the question, and she shook her head. “I think perhaps Ms. Jenson just needed a little quiet time. Clara was crying and resisting the bottle. She was hungry and a little cranky. And it took a while to settle her down and get her to feed. I would have called you if she fretted too much, but she eventually took the bottle with less fuss than last night.”

“Tina left because Clara was crying?” Libby asked flatly, and Charlie’s eyes widened in alarm.

“I mean, I thought maybe she was just stepping out for a few minutes, but she’s been gone awhile. So maybe she had something else to do?”

“Maybe,” Libby said absently, not wanting the girl to think she’d caused any trouble, but seriously, what the hell? This arrangement was not going to work if Tina bailed every time Clara cried. Which, now that Libby thought about it, Tina had been doing since Clara’s birth. She glanced at Tina’s desk and noted that the woman’s laptop was still there.

“Okay, thanks, Charlie. Did you get some lunch yet?” she asked, her mind still working overtime; she barely heard Charlie’s affirmative response. She smiled down at her peacefully sleeping baby and stroked her head with a gentle finger.

“I’ll see you girls later, okay?” she said, and Charlie nodded, her eyes back on her textbooks.

Libby exited the office and dragged her phone from her smock pocket, brought up Tina’s number, and called. It went straight to voice mail. As did the next three calls.

This was definitely not cool. How could she just walk out in the middle of lunch service? And what was her problem with Clara?

The more Libby tried to reach Tina, the more pissed off she got.

Where the hell are you? she texted. No response.

She shook her head and shoved the phone back into her pocket. Yesterday, when Tina had looked so vulnerable and terrified, Libby had been willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. But it was really hard to continue making excuses for her when she pulled shit like this. Tina might not give a crap about this business, but Libby had a kitchen to run and didn’t currently have time for whatever was going on with her friend.

Greyson had stopped by a men’s apparel store for some casual clothes before coming to the sporting-goods place. It was massive, with every kind of sportswear and equipment one could possibly need or desire.

He wandered from aisle to aisle, piling his cart full of any comfortable-looking outerwear that took his fancy, before finally heading to the checkout. When he got there, he noticed that the place seemed uncommonly empty. He had dismissed any attempts of help from the salespeople, preferring to browse without interruption, and now he noticed that none of them were around anymore. And there didn’t seem to be any other customers either.

There was one checkout counter open, and it was manned by a huge guy, who topped Greyson’s six feet and three quarters of an inch by about two inches. But it was more than just his height that made him massive; he was powerfully built, and Greyson, who was by no means a slouch when it came to fitness, felt like a twig compared to the guy.

“Hey,” Greyson muttered while he unloaded his goods onto the counter. “Where’s everybody?”

“We closed about half an hour ago. Staff’s gone home. Half days on Saturday.”

“How long have I been here?” Greyson asked, startled by that information. He was pretty certain the place had been open when he’d walked in. Of course it had; how else would he have gotten in?

Tags: Natasha Anders Broken Pieces Romance
Source: readsnovelonline.net