Beneath These Chains (Page 7)

“We open at ten, which means I’ll be by to pick you up at nine-thirty. It’s out of my way, but if that doesn’t work for you, you’ll need to adjust your schedule. We’re open Tuesday through Saturday, and I’ll run you home after we close at seven. Mathieu covers the store when I’m out on calls to take a look at bigger stuff people want to sell, so you’ll need to make sure you get along with him. If you’ve got suggestions for price increases or anything else, we discuss them first. I don’t gouge customers—I make the fair deal.”

Elle’s red lips curved into a smile. If that was the look of victory on her face, something told me I’d give in more than once just to see it again. The thought flashed through my brain before I could shut it down. This was dangerous. This whole fucking thing was dangerous.

Elle straightened her shoulders, all business. She slipped around to the back of the display case and unlocked it—with keys she must have gotten from Mathieu. He and I were gonna have to have a chat. “Perfect. Then let’s talk now. I’d re-price almost all of this entire case…” She slid open the mirrored back and pulled out watches and jewelry and went over point-by-point why each was priced too low, how to increase the margin, how she would respond to customer inquiries about the higher prices. She didn’t stop for at least twenty minutes. I stood, watching and listening. And trying to control my growing fascination with this woman. She didn’t belong here. Didn’t belong in my world at all. But damned if I didn’t like the way her cut-through-the-bullshit attitude livened up the place already.

She’s not for you.

I waited until she was done with her spiel before speaking. “Do it. All of it. And make sure you fill out your paperwork before we leave today. You’re not getting paid under the table.”

I couldn’t believe I was saying the words. She was going to complicate the shit out of everything.

I turned and headed for my office, just to get a break from the intensity that was Elle. Mathieu was in my chair, tapping away at some computer game.

I lowered myself onto the couch, dropped my head back, and closed my eyes. “You gonna work today, kid?”

Mathieu burst out laughing. “I’ll work, but I didn’t want to interrupt your one-on-one session out there. Can’t believe we’re adding a rich girl to the family.”

I snapped open my eyes. “Adding her to the payroll. That’s it.”

“Whatever you say, man. Whatever you say. I recognize a keeper when I see one.”

I refused to acknowledge that keeping Elle might be the only way I could have her without causing a shitstorm. If I wasn’t just looking for a quick fuck … if I was looking to start something with her for real, Vanessa might not freak out. But to Mathieu, all I said was, “You’re nineteen. You recognize tits and ass and call it a day.”

“Well, someone’s gotta recognize. You’ve been going through a dry spell lately. You need to get some—”

“My personal life is not up for debate.”

“Well, shit, man. How long’s it been? A few months? Don’t think I haven’t noticed that the parade of cars parked in front of your house stopped and hasn’t started again. I keep an eye out from my side of the street, you know.”

For fuck’s sake. Why did I help the kid get an apartment across the street from me? Oh yeah, because I wanted to keep an eye on him. I just hadn’t considered he’d be keeping an eye on me.

Mathieu kept at it. “You know I’m just watchin’ out for you. I think if you maybe got some—”

A noise in the hallway caught my attention, along with a flash of red hair. I held up a hand to silence Mathieu and called, “Might as well come in, sweet thing, since you’re eavesdropping anyway.”

“I wasn’t eavesdropping. I was going to ask you a question about that Cartier bracelet.”

“Yes, it’s real. Yes, it’s been vetted to see if it was stolen. Everything we buy that’s high end is vetted for that purpose.”

“Oh, good. Do I get an employee discount?”

Mathieu’s quick laughter filled the office. “She’s a chick, man, what did you expect?”

In general, I’m easily amused, so I expected to be entertained by the pawnshop—at least for a while. But I hadn’t expected to be completely fascinated. I’d been a shopkeeper part-time at Dirty Dog, but this was an altogether different kind of commerce. There was an utterly unique slice of life walking through these doors, and the stories I heard would never leave me. A drumhead signed by Dave Grohl that a sixteen-year-old was selling to help buy his first car. A Bronze Star Medal from World War II that a man had found when his great uncle passed away. A wedding band a woman wanted to pawn in order to buy a prescription for a sick baby—except I wouldn’t let her and instead slipped her some of my own money while Lord wasn’t looking. And then the people who came in to buy—they expected to haggle, and they loved it. The thrill of the bargain and feeling like we’d both won something was energizing. One guy came back several times to go head-to-head with me. After almost five days, I was feeling like I’d finally found a place that fit me—at least for now.

And Lord. Lord oh Lord. It had become my go-to internal chant. The man could melt the panties off damn near any woman. Me included. I realized now that the speech he’d given me the day he’d ‘hired’ me was probably the longest set of words he’d ever strung together. He didn’t use two words when one would do. Which meant I got a lot of—“Yes,” “No,” and “Good”—in response to my comments and questions. The men who ran in my circle were usually entirely too happy to talk about themselves. Ask one question and a guy could go on and on about his hobbies or job for an hour. After four and a half days, I still knew almost nothing about Lord that had come from the man himself. I picked up bits and pieces from Mathieu, but what I learned through that avenue only made me more curious. I also knew a little from Vanessa, but again, that just added to my growing list of questions.