Blitz (Emerald City/Black Family Saga Book 1) (7 page)

I lean back and close my eyes. It’s easy enough to drown out the sounds around me at this point. This bar, all these people, has nothing on my mom and sister’s earsplitting arguments. And even after I moved out, expecting some kind of peace, I had to contend with a roommate who loved to party as much as he enjoyed entertaining girl after girl, night after night. Quiet has never been a big part of my life.
 

I grip my glass and lean forward, taking another swig to wash down the lump in my throat. And that’s when I see her. Our gazes lock and she smiles a little and holds up her own glass. It’s much smaller than mine. And filled with a clear liquid. I hold my arm up in response and we bring them to our lips simultaneously.
 

I sit up a little straighter and clear my throat. My desire to be alone has suddenly vanished and instead, I revel in the opportunity to get exactly what I wanted in the first place. Another audience with Sydney Bucco. As I get up and make my way over to the bar, she grabs another shot glass and effortlessly downs it in a just a few seconds. She’s sucking on a lemon when I arrive.
 

“Hey,” I say.

“Ray Carlson. In a bar?” She swivels to face me, wobbling on the stool and I reach out to steady her. “This is highly unexpected,” she adds.

I laugh. “A little drunk are we?”

“Absolutely.” Sydney bobs her head. “Celebrating my good fortune, look across the bar and there he is.”
 

“Well, I haven’t signed with you yet.”

“True.” She wrinkles her nose, an act that makes her look even cuter.
 

I glance behind me. “Do you maybe want to join me? I came with my buddy, but as usual he found someone hotter to spend the night with.” I nod toward the pool table.

Sydney cranes her neck to look behind me and squints her eyes. “I’ve been coming to this pub for, I don’t know, six, seven months. And I can never get a goddamn booth. Always stuck here at this stupid bar. How’d you—oh, never mind.” She taps her index finger to her temple. “You’re a big star. Aren’t ya? The rest of us are just little people.”

I shrug. “Maybe you just need to ask nicely.”

This seems to amuse her and she holds out her hand. I take it, helping her down from the stool and leading the way toward the booth. She slides into my side, leaning her back up against the wall. She crosses her legs yoga style.

“Too much space between the table,” she comments. “Can’t have much of a conversation in all this noise. You have another glass?”

“I can get one,” I say.
 

She shakes her head. “Don’t bother. I’ve had enough to drink anyway. Besides I have to work tomorrow. Not to mention I’ve been requested to attend this fancy shindig at a fancy football player’s ranch.”

I smirk and stretch my legs in front of me. Then pressing my back up against the bench, I turn my head to face her. “So you’re coming? For sure?”

“Didn’t want to be rude.” Sydney gathers her long dark hair, and drapes it over one shoulder. A tiny tattoo of a cross and the initials C.B. on her opposite collarbone catches my eye.

“So,” I say, forcing my gaze from her slender neck to her wide brown eyes. “On the hunt for another client? Wyndham Wright maybe? I hear he’s still unsigned.”

“Technically,” she responds. “But that’s nothing but a pipe dream. Apparently his sister’s a lawyer, so that might never happen. At least not outside of the family. Stupid if you ask me. Never hire family.”

“Don’t you work for your cousin?”

Sydney snickers. “Yeah, and look how that turned out.” She lets out a deep sigh.

“I’m…I was so sorry to hear about Miss Clarke.”

“Why?” she asks. She rests her elbow on the table and props her head up at the chin. “Because she’s two steps away from the morgue or because you’re going to miss out on a multi-million dollar contract if she never wakes up?”

Her accusation stings a little, but I try not to let it register on my face.
 

“Sorry,” she mumbles. “That was a bitchy thing to say. Thank you. You know, for your concern and everything.”

“Sure.”

“So what are you doing here anyway?” Sydney’s gaze drinks me in studying my every move. “I thought your people didn’t drink.”

“I spent five years at UDub. Those are my people.”

She grins. “Ah, so debauchery’s like a way of life for you then.”

“An occasional pitcher of beer, here and there.”
 

“That’s it? No cheerleaders? No wild parties?”

“Not really my thing. What about you? What do you do for fun?”

Sydney stares at me for a few moments and I shift in my seat, waiting for her response.
 

“I’m trying to figure out if you’re telling me the truth,” she says. “Or if you’re just trying to impress a potential agent. Not that you need help with that.”

“The whole church boy thing is a myth,” I reply, focusing on the way her hair flows over her bare shoulder. “For the most part. My dad’s a pastor, but it doesn’t mean I’m completely innocent all the time.”
 

“So, that four thousand dollar bottle of vodka I sent wasn’t an awful idea after all. Reese will be relieved.”

“Actually, I only drink beer. So yeah, it’s still sitting in the gift box it came in.”

“Damn it. What a waste.” She rubs her eyes.

“I drink once in a while. Usually when I have a rough day but, other than that, I pretty much stick to the books. And the gym.”

“Yeah.” She reaches out and her fingers graze my chest. “It shows.”
 

My gaze holds hers and she quickly pulls her hand back, dropping her forehead to her palm. “I’m sorry. That was totally uncalled for. Shit, I’m a little buzzed right now. I swear I’m not always like this—the chick with the drink in her hand. I know that’s probably hard to believe considering the past forty-eight hours and all, but I swear—”

I chuckle. “It’s okay.”

Sydney nods toward the entrance. “Um, so yeah. I should probably head out of here.”

“Don’t. It’s okay really. Besides, you didn’t even answer my question. What do you do for fun?”

She hugs her knees to her chest and rests her chin on top of them. “Not much. Ever since I got here, I’ve pretty much just been working. I have my own business, sort of, on the side. And I fill in the extra hours helping out Reese. She’s pretty much my person right now. My mom’s in Florida with my…um, I guess you’d call him my stepdad. Technically. Only met the guy once. At the wedding but…”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah,” she shrugs. “It was one of those quick romances. She met him about a month after my dad died. People do that you know?” She says it like she’s trying to convince herself. “They look for someone to fill the void. I was pissed at first. But I got over it. Moved out here and never looked back.”

“From Texas.”

“Sweetwater.”

I clear my throat, reluctant to bring it up, but too curious not to. “Your dad died?”

Sydney’s gaze darts from the seat of the booth, up to mine and she blinks her eyes once in silent confirmation.
 

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

I should tell her I feel her pain. That she’s not alone. That I know what it’s like. But I can’t bring myself to talk about it. It’s selfish, but I hold onto it anyway.

“Your business. What is it?” I ask, instead.

“I’m a P.I. Totally amateur. I mean, like, I don’t have any real qualifications or anything. Just one online certificate that isn’t worth a damn. I’m mostly home trained. But I’m good. I mean, not at everything. I am just one girl, but I…you know...I like it. Wish I could do it full-time.”

“You’re a private investigator? Seriously?”

She shakes her head. “Yes, and that’s the response I usually get, which is why most people don’t know.”

“What do you mean? What response?”

“Disbelief. Amusement. Skepticism. ‘That girl can’t be more than sixteen, what does she know?’ That response.”

I put my hands up in defense. “No way. I just think it’s really cool. I mean it’s an actual job. You provide a service. You help people.” Which is more than I can say for myself. I provide mindless entertainment.

“Well, let’s not get carried away. I helped one lady track down the cat her ex-boyfriend’s new girlfriend stole. I helped a man catch his wife in the act. And I help Reese track down potential clients, at the gym, at church. Oh, and did I forget to mention every client I have was referred by my cousin too? I’m good at what I do, but I’ve still got a ways to go before I’m legit.”

“So you’re a home-trained P.I. and assistant to the best agent in the industry. And I’m just a lowly football player. A jock. Damn.”

She laughs. “From what I hear you’re a football god. Not lowly at all. And me? Well that’s past tense,” she says. “I was an assistant to the best.”

“Miss Clarke is still the best.” I place my hand on the side of her leg. “And you’re still a pretty damn good assistant. She’s going to pull through. I know it. You just have to have a little faith.” I let out a heavy sigh and clasp both hands on top of my head. “Why do you think I haven’t signed with anyone yet? I had my heart set on her. Had it all planned out. Then, just like that she…sorry,” I say. “Wow, that makes me sound like an ass. She’s your family and I’m acting like she’s some kind of prize.”

“Trust me, I get it. She’s the one that helped me get on my feet when I got here. If it wasn’t for her I wouldn’t be able to pay my rent, I wouldn’t be doing what I love. I wouldn’t be living here in this city at all. I’d probably be back at home, living at my grandmother’s. Being prepped to marry some cowboy with a savior complex. When people we love leave us, or come close to it, we start missing the things we take for granted. It’s completely normal. My dad taught me everything I know and sometimes I can’t help but think if he were still here life would be so much easier. I wouldn’t be an assistant at all. I wouldn’t be struggling; I’d be working alongside him. On real cases. I’d get some real respect.”

I stare back, her words echoing in my mind. And I can’t help but think of all the things I’ve taken for granted in the past. If Aunt Sheila and Uncle Dave were to die today, I’d be crushed. They’re all I have. And I need to start treating them like it. I don’t need any more regrets. I was given a second set of parents. That’s more than most people get.

She swings her legs in front of her. “Well, it’s been nice getting to know you, but I really should go home and sleep this off. I’ve got an early morning ahead of me and dinner at the Carlson ranch. I’m going to need to bring my A game to persuade that guy.”

I ease out of the booth and offer her a helping hand. Once she’s on her feet again, she holds her grip, pumping it once.
 

“You okay to get home?”

She nods.

“We’ll see you tomorrow then,” I say. “If you need a ride. Just let me know.”

“Will do.”

I sit back down, watching her as she walks out the pub doors and a sense of relief washes over me. I am not an ass. I’m a good guy. And my instincts about Sydney Bucco are just as sound as my ones regarding her cousin. She will wake up. She has to. I need to do this my way, or not at all. I nod to myself. I’m doing the right thing. All she has to do is convince my family.
 

I remove my rubber boots and carry them gingerly, down the hallway and toward the bathroom. As grateful as I am, I need to stop taking these kinds of jobs. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say my cousin’s ex was just making shit up. Ever since her accident, he’s hired me on three separate occasions. One more ridiculous than the other, all paying an overly generous five hundred dollar fee. Enough to pay rent, enough to keep my nose above the surface at least. But I still feel like I’m drowning.
 

I turn on the hot water full blast and watch, as it turns brown, swirling its way down the drain taking the muck from my boots with it. This has charity written all over it. He knows I won’t take five bills to find a runaway dog, so he sends me to freaking New Castle to spy on some man’s daughter’s boyfriend.
 

I’m a country girl, but I’m not a nature person. I hate nature. I hate trails, and leaves and mud. I’d rather sit on the bench at a golf green park in the city, than trek through an actual forest.
 

I carry my boots out to the balcony and turn them upside down, then head back into the bathroom and turn on the showerhead.
 

I sigh as I peel out of my tights and tank top. I’ve got only two hours before this dinner at the Carlson’s and I’m exhausted. Every ounce of me wants to blow it off. It’d be a relief to snuggle under my comforter and get lost in a Netflix marathon. I should just go down to the corner store, grab a pack of doughnuts and bottle of root beer and call it a night. But I can’t. Miraculously, I’m still in the game. Ray Carlson is warming up to me and I need to take advantage of that. It’s what Reese would do. It’s what she’s done almost every night of her life for the past two years. From one party to the next, dressed to impressed and always ready to go. I don’t know how she does it. I wonder if she ever will again.
 

I stand outside of my open closet, ten minutes later, staring at the monotone blacks, navies and grays hanging in front of me. I don’t have a clue what to wear, I realize. And I don’t have anything nice. I’m about to go to dinner with a potential client and I don’t even own a pair of heels.
 

I should have stopped by Reese’s place again. Aunt Paola would have found me something decent. But I don’t have time now. I’m going to end up sitting at the table looking like a kid. I eye the pantsuit from the other day, but think better of it. Ray didn’t tell me whether or not it was formal. It’s at a ranch. These people are country folk, just like me. And it’s better to show up in something casual than something I wore the day before.

I reach for a pair of dark wash skinny jeans, a navy tank top and a pair of patent leather navy flats. I still have the silver chain and earrings I got for Christmas last year. I’ll pull my hair up, put on a little eye make-up and lip-gloss and I’ll be good to go.