Page 40 of Mr. Wilde

Brier takes a cautious nibble of something wrapped in bacon. “Devils on… something?”

“Horseback,” Candice says around a mouthful. “Which is also what I will be doing later, if the night goes right.” She winks.

Brier grimaces. “Why does everything you say sound like a threat?”

A few of the women from the upper floors step up to the bar, each taking an appetizer and nibbling on the edge of it.

“Do they actually eat?” Fern whispers.

“Yes. But they probably get full after eating a water cracker,” Brier grouses.

Fern turns to face her. “You’re as thin as they are. Do you get full after a cracker?”

The corner of Brier’s mouth curls in a poorly suppressed grin. The compliment clearly made its mark. “No. This girl loves to eat. I just have to spend more time in the gym afterwards.” Her honesty is actually a bit surprising.

Lala giggles, pulling out a few drawings of different outfits. Of course, they’re cut so short they don’t look like they’ll cover all of our important bits. But the dresses vary in cut and shape. Each paired with tall white boots.

“Aww, no jumpsuit,” Candice whines.

“Probably for the best, doll. They’re hard to get in and out of quickly if you have to run to the little girls’ room. It’s why I stopped letting my little brother, Caleb, wear overalls. He kept having accidents in the time it took to get them off.”

I can’t help but laugh. “How is your little brother, Fern? I felt terrible thinking about him home all alone the other day.” My mind immediately went to all of the child neglect and abuse cases I recall during my time at the academy. I surprised myself by how well I handled most of the world’s worst-behaved humans. But I have to admit, any injustice toward a child stuck with me for long after the case was closed.

“Oh, he’s fine. He’s a handful, but he’s fine. After my mom died, I couldn’t bear the thought of him moving in with my Aunt Josephine in Arkansas. My mom had me so young, that once she married my deadbeat stepdad and had Caleb, there was a huge age difference between us.”

I take a bite of something yummy that makes me think of a gourmet cheese ball. “How old are you, Fern?” She’s sweet, but doesn’t seem the academic type. Between this, her southern quips, and her friendship with Candice, I may have underestimated her age.

“I’m twenty-one.”

“Wow, fourteen years is a big age difference. He lives with you?”

Fern shrugs, her face morphing at the question. The stress of raising her little brother has clearly taken its toll. “Yes. It’s not easy with the long hours here. But I have a few college girls in the neighborhood who stay at the house when I’m working. And Louisa next door helped out occasionally, but I don’t know that I can count on her with her health the way it is. Her diabetes was out of control the last time she watched him.”

Reaching for her hand, I give it a squeeze. “Fern, that’s incredible. That you’re juggling everything to keep him here with you.”

“Nah. You’d do it for your brother, right? It’s just what you do for the people you love.”

My mind instantly goes to Holt and how much he’s done for me. She’s right. “Well, if you’re ever in a bind and I’m off, I’m happy to help.”

“Wow. Really? Thank you, Cassidy. That means a lot to me.”

“Well, considering you two pretty much work the same shifts, it was a safe offer to make,” Brier tosses out. Her sarcasm on full display.

“Don’t pay any attention to her,” Lala soothes, urging me down the bar to where it’s more private. We pass Candice, who’s trying to scoop pasta onto a cocktail napkin, and Lala groans. “Lord, help that girl. She’s so slow, it would take her two hours to watch 60 Minutes.”

I snort.

She glances at me more seriously. “Hey. You okay?”

I glance at her in confusion.

“After last night, I mean.”

“Oh.” I stiffen. “Yeah. I’m fine. It was just a rough evening.”

Her eyes soften. “I couldn’t hear much, but I could tell there was tension between you and Max. Was he inappropriate with you? Because friend of Gianni’s or not, that won’t fly.”

“No!” I blurt. My shoulders slump. “It wasn’t him. It was me.” I don’t elaborate. I can’t. I mean, what could I possibly share? I’m in enough trouble. I don’t need to throw myself under the bus. So instead, I pivot. “What do you actually know about Max?”