“They’d hate me, wouldn’t they?”
She wasn’t offended. Shyla would be the first to admit she wasn’t suited to the gangster lifestyle. Calling herself a liability was an understatement.
“They don’t all think one way,” he said, a harsh edge to his words. “The family line is set by Burl, and we wouldn’t get his blessing.”
So although the McDades didn’t all think the same way, no one in the family would voice their disagreement outside their ranks. Burl was Score’s father, the McDade patriarch. He told the world the McDades position and no one would contradict him.
“Does that bother you?” she asked.
Learning that someone wouldn’t like her wasn’t fun, but it didn’t surprise her. It would only be a problem for them if it was a problem for Score.
He exhaled and leaned back in his chair to look down at her again. “We don’t give a damn about them.”
“You said Burl listens to you, so you must still talk to him. And if Biz doesn’t like that—”
“If Biz doesn’t like that, he can go fuck himself.”
The office door opened just in time for whoever came in to hear those last few words. Boosting higher on her knees, she looked over the top of the desk. Beeks and Fish were standing in the doorway, probably not sure if they should retreat.
“My fault,” Shyla said, brushing her hands down her thighs as she stood up. “Stan’s funeral is the day after tomorrow.”
“I got your text,” Beeks said, distracted intrigue in his tone. “You want the day off.”
“You worried about the dick from the house,” Fish asked, squeezing around the frowning Beeks to head for the couch under the blinds.
“Not anymore,” she said, shifting the angle of her purse. “Score says he’ll come with me.”
Fish blinked in surprise. Shyla didn’t dare look at Beeks, but heard the door close, so she guessed he was coming inside to join them.
Once he’d had a few seconds to process, Fish smiled. “Just like I told the guy, Score takes care of problems.”
“Yeah, he does,” she said, smiling when Beeks crossed between her and Fish to sit on the couch with him. “It probably won’t be a big deal.”
“Just in case, it’s good to have someone with you,” Beeks said. Whatever his frown had been for, he obviously got over it. “What time is the service?”
“Eleven,” she said.
“Next couple of nights are on you two,” Score said, laying his forearms on the desk.
“We’ll take care of everything,” Beeks said. “Want to delay the auditions?”
“No,” Score said, closing the laptop and standing up.
Dwarfed by his form, Shyla didn’t want to move, though she probably should. Beeks was already thinking something. Even though she didn’t know exactly what it was, his curiosity was obvious.
Score didn’t help diminish his lawyer’s assumptions when he tucked his hand under her hair to grip the back of her neck. “Staying for it?”
The crazy question took her focus from Beeks’ suspicions. “Am I staying to watch a bunch of women shake their tail feathers?”
Though the offer was sweet, she couldn’t imagine much would be more uncomfortable.
Fish bounced to the edge of the couch. “You should stay… You should hang out here more.”
“I have things to do,” she said, reaching over the desk to snag her grocery bag.
Her hip pressed into Score’s thigh. That contact gave her a flash of what else they might do if they were alone and she bent over his desk.
“Auditions will run late,” Beeks said. “We’ll probably order food here.”
“Sure,” she said, neglecting to tell him that Score had already said they wouldn’t be back for dinner that night.
Loathed as she was to tear herself away, there was no reason for her to stay. Walking toward the door, she glanced at all of them. Thinking of them as family was premature, but she did have a habit of getting too attached.
Death had taken the last person she’d gotten to attached to. Soon she’d have to say goodbye to him. If she lost any of the trio around her, it wouldn’t be such a final end, but it would be just as painful.
Being so used to routine probably wasn’t a good thing. That was what Shyla decided later that night. Her trio usually came back for dinner and then went to the club again. With the auditions preventing them from returning for dinner, she didn’t have any distractions to keep her busy. The when kept her pacing; first in front of the fireplace and then out on the terrace.
The night air didn’t calm her down. She couldn’t tell which was making her edgier, not knowing when Score would come back or Stan’s funeral. The alert she’d gotten came from the funeral directors. Mick hadn’t let her know, but she couldn’t blame him for that. He’d asked for a way to get in touch with her and she hadn’t provided one.
Shyla seriously doubted he’d have been kind enough to extend an invitation even if he did have her details. In spite of his animosity, she wouldn’t let him make her feel unwelcome. Everything was all over the place. She didn’t know what to think. Feeling adrift, with no one to lean on, gave her a much greater appreciation for what she’d had with Bernard and Stan.
In her days with them, there wasn’t much to be stressed about. But if she ever was, the two men didn’t care if she went off on a rant about whatever it was.
The apartment she’d grown to love wasn’t offering her much comfort. It had never felt so big or so empty. She didn’t have a tub in her bathroom, so she settled for a
