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I can use that, but I have to do it my way.
And I’m talking myself in circles.
Her frequent, long side glances with her emotions in her eyes are what I want. Add some heart to that and I can really manipulate her.
By seven, she breathes a sigh, turns the sign, and locks the door. Then she stands in the middle of the store and looks at me. It makes my heart thump hard.
“You don’t have to stay so late.”
“I know, I wanted to make up for me not coming in. You insist on paying—” something I actively feel terrible about, but then again, fools and their money…even though I don’t think she’s a fool “—so it’s the least I could do.”
She nods. And opens her mouth, a worried expression on her face.
So I step in, right up to her, and slide my hands along her shoulders. Christ, she feels good. “Gran’s been asking about you.”
“It’s the cookies I send with you.”
I go to say she’s diabetic, but for some reason I stop myself. I’ve been giving her treats to my PA who I swear swoons every time. If I say something snarky, it would be like slapping Zoey and I don’t hit women. Even metaphorically. Not like this, anyway. “She loves them. And she thinks you sound like a dream.”
“That’s so sweet.”
I lift her chin with my fingers. Dark circles shadow her eyes, and her soft mouth is pale. “So are you, Zoey. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone quite like you.”
The moment I say those words, I know they’re true.
Sure, I’m taking away her rickety store. Sure, I know it’s going to burn her. But it’s true. And part of me wishes things were different. The other part wonders what the hell the suddenly sappy part has been drinking and I know I need to get out of there.
I have two weeks to deal with the whole heart bullshit, which I’m off to do again tonight. I’m setting up a job and shelter service. Not a halfway house, but it came about from listening to Zoey yesterday. She was talking about the problem of people who’d gotten themselves up from the gutters of society, and how for some it’s hard to find work, and that means it’s hard to find a home. And then she told me about programs for ex-cons and how restrictive some are.
So I’m going to set something up. Offer housing and set up different kinds of places where people can work. As well as a place away from the city where people can make and sell things like home goods. That one came from Tuesday Harry and his knitting.
It’s not happening overnight. And it might all sink terribly. Tonight is dinner and drinks with others who I think will be on board.
People love good deeds and projects, and for once, even if it fails, I’m fine with backing this.
“Magnus…”
Her mouth is calling to me, but I reluctantly step back, releasing her. “Keep that thought, those words, whatever they are. I have to go. And who knows, maybe I can bring Gran this weekend.”
And Zoey smiles.
It almost breaks my heart.
If I had one.
Chapter Fourteen
Zoey
I’m going to have to fire him.
It’s not the bad job he does. It’s him. I like him too much.
Suzanne gives me a look. “What’s that face?”
“It’s my face. I have it all the time.” I take a sip of my Jack and Coke. Not my usual, but I need the sugar and the boozy courage.
It’s Friday night and it’s been a few hours since Magnus left and his sweet words reverberate in my head. Yep, I’m going to have to let the gorgeous hunk of a man go.
