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“Come on, Princess. Let’s get you home.”
I follow Martin out of the restaurant—I don’t really have a choice, since he has my bird and my bag. The shopping center backs up to the parking lot of Precious Meadows. The rain is more of a fine mist, but the clouds are still ominously thick. We’re almost to what I can only assume is Martin’s car before I remember that I was supposed to be waiting for “my boyfriend” to pick me up.
six
MARTIN
I don’t even hesitate in loading Trinity’s assaulted, possibly incontinent chicken into the all-white interior of my Tesla. I probably should. Do I even want to know if chicken shit stains leather?
I shrug, nestle the carrier into the back seat of the car and weave the seat belt through the handle before latching it in.
At the very least, my lack of concern should alarm me.
It doesn’t.
Right now, my biggest concern is getting Trinity home safe before the weather turns even more ominous. Throughout our late lunch, I had weather alerts dinging from my phone to my watch. If the threats of hail and flooding don’t materialize, I’m going to head back to Precious Meadows and get Stacy fired.
I wonder who I’ll need to talk to in order to make that happen … The manager? The lawyers? Doesn’t matter. By Monday morning, I will have Stacy begging Trinity to come back even if I have to buy the damn company.
For the first time in my life, I understand why medieval tyrants would banish the peons that displeased them. I don’t even want Stacy fired. I want her groveling for forgiveness at Trinity’s feet. I want her forced to write a dissertation about the importance of Trinity’s work with patients, about how Trinity’s effervescent glow brings joy to everyone.
And that is the moment I feel the first stirrings of alarm. Not for my car, but for the single-minded determination that I haven’t felt in years.
I give the pet carrier a last look before putting her bag on the floorboard and clicking the button to lower the car’s wing-style door. As the door closes, Trinity comes back into view on the other side of the car. She’s standing several feet from the front passenger door, her expression shifting between confusion and hesitation.
I shoot her a questioning look and she blushes.
“I was supposed to wait for …” She trails off, gesturing vaguely back toward the bus stop.
“Right. The boyfriend.” Speaking of people who need to grovel at Trinity’s feet … I set my jaw, planting my hands on my hips as I stare her down.
Her blush deepens. “I just don’t want to leave and then have him show up.”
“Is he here yet?”
“No, but?—”
“It’s been over an hour,” I say, estimating without bothering to look at my watch. As far as I’m concerned, any man who lets his girlfriend wait more than an hour in the rain doesn’t deserve the woman. Any man who makes Trinity wait more than an hour in the rain deserves something else entirely. “Just get in the car.”
She takes a step closer, but still hesitates. “But I’m all wet and not exactly clean. Because of the incident. And?—”
“Get in the car before I forcibly put you in the car.”
Her eyes flash. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“You wanna try me?”
She huffs, but opens the door, before hesitating again when she sees the bright white interior. Her gaze jerks back to mine, her eyes wide. “You can’t be serious. Who even buys a car with an interior like this?”
“Rich assholes who don’t expect to be driving chickens around. Now get in the car before it starts raining more and you do even more damage to the leather.”
“But—”
I blow out a huff of annoyance and stalk around the nose of the car to follow up on my threat. She yelps and clambers in.
Grinding my teeth, I climb into the driver’s side and start the car with a push of a button, putting it in gear before she can change her mind.
I swear she’s muttering under breath. Probably summoning a demon.
