9. Easton

Chapter nine

Easton

" N eil?" I try to keep my expression neutral. "Is he the black sheep of the family?"

She huffs a slightly bitter laugh. "No, not at all. He was actually the golden child growing up, and I was the weirdo. You know how it goes, there's always one in the family, handsome, popular, athletic. He might have gone somewhere with it had he not gotten lazy. We don't talk these days. He lives here in town, last I heard, but I don't know where. He's always got some wealthy old lady paying his way. Not exactly uncle material."

"Does he work?"

She sighs and runs a fork around her cheesecake plate. "For a while, I think he was trying to become a professional poker player, but who knows."

"I'm the black sheep of my family," I say before I can stop the words from tumbling out. It's a stupid thing to admit, but she just laughs and shakes her head.

"I highly doubt that, Mr. Degarmo."

"Easton, please."

"Easton. There is no way you're the black sheep of the Degarmo family."

"I don't know. The way you used to be able to hear my old man go on about Samuel the MBA or Daniel, the future doctor. I never went to college, I was too busy–"

I stop myself before I say something incriminating, and she smiles. "College is just a means to an end. It's not anything that makes a person more worthy than another. There are millions of people out here doing all sorts of vital work who have never gotten a degree. And with what it costs…why waste your time and money if you didn't need it?"

"But what if I don't do anything vital?" I find myself wondering aloud.

She clicks her tongue. "It's vital to someone. Look at me. I sell flowers. How dumb is that? Yet people pay ridiculous prices for them because it's part of the rituals we all adhere to. It's how we woo people and brighten people's day and begin marriages and mourn the dead." She shrugs. "We all play a part. Even if we can't see it ourselves."

She meets my eyes and for a moment I swear her scent breaks through the menthol rub I've coated the inside of my nostrils with. I feel myself losing control for a moment and close my eyes.

"You okay, Mr., uh, Easton?" she asks.

I open my eyes. "Fine. I, uh, should be going."

She looks at her watch. "Shoot. I didn't even notice the time. I only meant to be here for a few minutes. I've got to get several funeral arrangements done before six."

"Sorry to keep you."

She shakes her head. "No, not at all. Thank you for lunch. Next time it's on me." She drops a ten on the table, waves to the woman watching us from behind the counter, and hurries off. I force myself to sit calmly as she leaves, even as everything in me demands I follow her.

"Anything else I can get you, sir?" the woman who took our order asks.

I shake my head. "I'm good, but actually…could I start a tab?"

"A tab?" She looks confused.

"Yeah, like at a bar. I want someone to deliver Miss Grayson lunch every day. Whatever she wants until she takes maternity leave."

The woman's smile fills her entire face. "Well, aren't you the sweetest boyfriend ever?"

"I–"

She takes the card I'm holding out but doesn't let me get a word in to correct her. It doesn't matter. None of this would make sense to a human. How do you explain the urge to care for someone you don't even know? "We all thought her and the last guy–the baby's father–" she leans closer and whispers "was a keeper. She seemed so in love. Would have never taken him for a deadbeat. Now what was his name?"

She turns back to the counter and yells, "Jason! Jason? What was Emily's boyfriend's name?"

A balding man in an apron appears with a tray and begins to refill the glass display with pastries. "Something Russian–remember, his accent was really thick."

"He was Russian?" I ask, my curiosity peaked.

The woman nods. "Yep. I want to say it was with an I? Ignacio?"

"That's not Russian," the man tells her.

"Igor?"

He shakes his head. Suddenly, she slaps her hand against her leg. "It was Ivan. Remember, I teased him about being Ivan the Great, and he laughed and said he was Ivan the Terrible?" Her face drops. "Poor girl. It should have been her first red flag."

The woman gets my credit card information for my tab, and I head back out to the car. There's no sign of Emily on the street, but two of my men are there, watching the shop. I text my man watching the front as soon as I'm locked inside my car.

Anything?

She went in about ten minutes ago. No one has entered since then.

Satisfied they have that handled, I dial my tech guy's number before pulling out in traffic. "You have everything done?" I ask before he can say hello.

"Project's all complete. I left instructions on your desk on how to set everything up from your phone."

I thank him and end the call. A few weeks of surveillance, some more digging into her brother and the Ivan guy and I can I…fuck, of course, she'd be human. Do I ask her out? Do we date? How do you date a pregnant woman? Of course, this all hinges on everything checking out because Samuel's right. I'm not some dumb twenty-five-year-old thug anymore with nothing to lose. I'm the Degarmo Alpha. This city is mine. Anyone who tries to lie or cheat will pay–pregnant or not. I've been down that road before. I won't make the same mistake twice.