Page 20 of Heart Over Heels

SIX

Darby

Oz and I returned from Mammon’s Mile like soldiers laden with the spoils of war. Gifts were distributed and housewares replaced. Elliot thanked me for the gloves and hoodie before Oz cornered him to show off his finds from the comic book store.

I continued unloading sacks like Santa Claus, stashing Zephyr’s candy in the pantry, and then handing over the darts and board, which the twins immediately hung on the wall behind the dining table.

From there, I busied myself in the kitchen, stocking plates and glasses. The cabinet I needed was high enough that I had to kick off my shoes and climb onto the chipped laminate counter to reach. I removed the old dishware with near-giddy delight and stacked it on top of the fridge, which seemed to groan in complaint.

That thing was ancient—not retro cute, just aged and decrepit enough to rattle every time the compressor kicked on. Needless to say, it was on the list of things to be replaced, but the mall didn’t sell large appliances, so it lived to struggle another day.

Colt and Callum made enough racket arguing about their darts game that I fished out my new earbuds and set them to shuffle through the playlist on my equally new cell phone. Maslow would never have let us have things like that. Not the headphones so much as the way to contact people outside the club. It was a channel he couldn’t monitor—a measure of control he was unwilling to relinquish, so he didn’t.

Now we all had phones. And group chats. And social media accounts.

The internet was a brave new world, and I was first into the fray, having had a bit of experience scrolling my sugar daddies’ devices and ordering myself pretty things on their dimes.

I lined up the last row of glasses, each one catching the glare from the overhead light until it threw back a clean glint of white. Satisfying. I was just about to hop down when a voice boomed loud enough to cut through the chorus of the Ke$ha song pulsing in my ears.

I popped one earbud free and leaned around the cabinet door.

Beck had entered the kitchen to find Callum standing ramrod-straight in front of the dartboard with an apple balanced on his head. Colt stood a few feet away holding a metal-tipped dart like he was auditioning for a barroom version of William Tell.

The scene froze for one perfect, damning second—Callum looking like he regretted every life choice that had brought him here, Colt radiating mischief, and Beck as frazzled as any father figure would be.

“What in all hells are you doing?” Beck boomed.

Colt’s nose crinkled as he sighted down the dart. “If you’ll gimme a damn minute, I’ll show ya. I’m a crack shot with these.” He tipped the brim of his Stetson toward his brother. “He knows it. Don’t ya, Cal?”

Beck strode forward with his palm out to Callum. “Callum, move. And give me the apple.” He indicated the dartboard as his disapproval steadily increased. “Where did this come from? Did I pay for this?”

The dart whizzed through the air before anyone could answer, thunking dead center into the apple Beck now held. His yellow eyes flared as he looked from the speared fruit to Colt, who was grinning like mad.

“That could’ve been my eye,” Beck groused.

“Yeah, but imagine how badass you’d look with an eyepatch,” Colt fired back. “Pirate Captain Becky bossin’ us around. Swabbing decks and?—”

“Walking the plank.” Beck set the apple firmly on the table. He held out his hand again, this time to Colt, then curled his fingers in a prompting gesture.

“Aw, hell,” Colt muttered then surrendered the rest of the darts.

Beck pocketed them then turned to scan the room. His gaze landed on where I was perched barefoot on the counter, peeking out at the sideshow in progress.

“Darby?” he said, his voice riding the last fumes of his composure. “Can I borrow you for a moment?”

For half a second, I considered pretending I hadn’t heard him. Maybe he was talking to some other barefoot idiot trying to camouflage in the cabinetry.

But my boss’s eyes stayed locked on me, unblinking, so I hopped down onto the peel-and-stick linoleum floor. My phone was warm in my pocket, and Ke$ha kept belting it out in my remaining earbud, but the room felt quieter.

I stepped into my shoes then trailed after Beck as he made a swift exit. Clearly, he was a man on his way to deal with a problem, and I got the impression that the problem was me.

Crossing the club floor, I quickened my pace until I walked beside him. “Is this about the darts?” I asked. “Because, while yes, I might’ve seen that coming, they didn’t have any rubber-tipped ones…”

“Colette informed me we have a new employee,” Beck said without breaking stride. “I think we should discuss it. Better now than when the guy shows up in…” He flicked a glance at his watch. “Less than an hour.”

“Colette hired someone? For what?”

“Security, apparently.”