Page 107 of The Stranger

“What?”

“Vampires bite. Ghosts rattle chains and shit.” Her gaze is so sharp, it’s almost surgical. “So what was with the sudden and intense need to speak to you?” She gestures behind me with her head.

“The boss? Just a checkup. To see how things are going.”

“Nothing to do with the hickey the size of Ontario.” She mimes a C shape in the vicinity of her neck, then peeks around the corner into the kitchen.

“You haven’t left them alone in there, have you?” Not that I think world war will ensue.

“Just Sylvie, and she’s watching someone make chocolate chip cookies on my phone. Kinda odd that he didn’t mention it, though. He’s a total control freak around the kids.”

“Maybe he didn’t notice.” I try to keep the edge of frustration from my tone.

She snorts.

“Then maybe he doesn’t care.”

“That man would care. Respectable is his middle name, or something.”

If only you knew. “Well, I suppose he must’ve fallen for your explanation. Thanks for that, by the way.”

“You’re welcome,” she says, slightly mollified. “I guess if anyone is going to believe that garbage, it would be a man.”

“Totally.” I give an agreeing roll of my eyes. “I should go in.” I gesture to the kitchen.

Sylvie is perched at the marble counter, Zoe’s phone propped on a container. Chin in her hands, she is entirely absorbed by a video of a disembodied hand stirring a bowl of cookie dough. The room smells of cinnamon and coffee with just a hint of tart lemon cleaner as every surface gleams. If only brains were as easy to wipe clean.

“Hey, poppet,” I chirp overly bright. I’m not being fair to these kids. But then, neither is he.

“Look, I have on my swimsuit!”

“So I see.”

“But you do not.”

“Well spotted,” I say, tugging her unruly braid. “I will, but first, coffee.”

“Café? Yuk!” she says emphatically.

“Well, I didn’t finish my breakfast.”

“Before Papa got cross with you?”

“What?” My attention flicks Zoe’s way.

“Don’t worry, Primrose. Papa is never angry for long.”

I’m not hungry, but if I loiter with an audience, M. LDH might leave for work before I appear in my bikini. Not that I think the sight of me will prompt him to ravish me in full view. But I will feel awkward.

I jab the double-shot button with unnecessary force, ignoring the sense of Zoe’s eyes on me as I manhandle the cup under the portafilter. Good thing Emmy isn’t here. She’d guess I was hiding.

Coffee made, I lean against the counter, wrapping my hands around the mug. It’s too hot to drink but I sort of want the sting. I deserve some kind of punishment. Something sharp and slightly painful to remind me of who I am. Where I am. I’m not in his arms. I’m not falling in lust. I’m not and will never be pressed to a sun-warmed window and fucked.

I’m Primrose. Sensible. Reliable. Steady. And I’m here to do a job and protect my best friend’s livelihood.

“Primrose? Primrose?”

“Sorry, sweets.” I turn to Sylvie, though she doesn’t look up from the phone.