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And with that, she leaves the room.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Kingston
I can sense that Skye is distracted as we sit in the French restaurant waiting for our appetizers. "Hey, is everything okay?" I ask her, taking in her worried expression. She looks up and nods, but leaves it at that. I wonder if she's still mad at me about what happened at work yesterday. "Remember what we said, Skye?" I remind her.
"Sorry. What?" She blinks as she sips her water.
"We said that business was to stay in the office and fun nights were for fun."
"Yeah. Okay."
"And it seems to me that you're still upset about the pharmaceutical case that I couldn't take because of the possibility of a conflict of interest."
"Oh," she shakes her head. "It's fine. Whatever. You do you."
I lean forward and grab a piece of the crusty baguette and take a bit of the butter. "Are you okay?"
She nods, then makes a face. "I'm sorry. I am just really distracted right now."
"No need to apologize. You want to talk about it?"
"It's just Elisabetta. I am worried about her."
"Why?"
"When I was leaving, she had this older guy in the apartment and he brought cocaine and I guess they're going to do coke tonight and have sex and do something crazy. And she wouldn't tell me exactly what the crazy thing was, but now all I can think about is her jumping off buildings or doing something that might put her life in danger." She stares at me. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to?—"
"Hey, don't apologize," I interrupt her. "Who is this guy?” Elisabetta seems to be making poor decision after poor decision and I’m not impressed. Though I’m not going to tell Skye that. I don’t want her to think I’m judging her best friend.
"Remember the guy I told you about from her date that was sitting at the other table? Tombstone?"
"Oh, yeah. You said she went on a blind date with some guy called Captain, right?"
"Yeah."
"And he went down on her, right?"
"Yeah." She makes a face. "And these two guys were watching from the next table and one of them gave her his card and that's who's at the place right now. And he's creepy. Really creepy. And I don't understand why or how she can't see it. And I feel partially guilty."
"Why would you feel guilty?" I frown.
The waiter approaches and we pause. "Here you go," he says, putting the plate down on the table. "And have you decided what you would like for your entrées yet?" he asks in what I can only guess is a fake French accent.
"I am ready. What about you, Skye?"
"Can I get the pommes frites with béarnaise sauce?"
"Oui, madam. And you monsieur?" he says, looking at me.
"I'll have the same."
"And how would you like your steaks cooked?"
"I'll do medium," Skye says.
"And I'll do rare."
