I watched as her eyes went huge and her hand rose to cover her mouth.
Even from across the room, I could hear the woman's raised voice. She'd been right about her boss being part banshee. Shy's ears had to be ringing.
"I didn't... no, I know, I...okay. Alright. No, I..."
"What happened?" I asked when the call ended abruptly, leaving Shy standing there with huge eyes and rapid breathing.
"I was just fired."
"What? Why?"
"I was on my way out of work last night when the SUV pulled up. I guess I hadn't gotten to locking the door yet. And then there was Belle, y'know? As soon as I saw her, there was no thinking about anything else."
"Didn't she see the cameras?" I asked.
"My guess is she didn't bother to look," Shy said, dropping down onto the chair at one of the nail stations, her hand going to her heart. "She just came in, and the door was open. She knew I was the last one out. I usually am. Oh, God. What am I going to do?" she asked, sounding choked.
It hadn't been that long ago that I knew the panic of losing your only source of income, of coming to grips with the reality of an empty stomach and possible homelessness.
"Take a deep breath first," I demanded, getting off the couch, and making my way over toward her, dropping down into a squat, and catching her gaze. "There you go," I said when she finally sucked in some air. "You have a savings?" I asked.
"Yeah, but that was for—"
"I know. But that safety net is what matters, right?" I asked. "It means food on the table and the rent paid."
"Yeah," she agreed.
"That's better than some other people have it," I said.
"That's true. And I can just... we can both devote more time to freelance clients," she said. "Since I'm sure Belle lost her job too."
"Too?" Belle asked, making our attention snap to where she was walking out of the hall looking freshly showered. "You got fired?"
"It's okay," Shy said, her knee-jerk reaction to reassure her little sister. "We'll be alright."
Belle stood there for a long second, her mind racing, before she shrugged. "Lily never paid you enough for your skill level anyway," she declared. "Have you seen her nail art?" she added, looking at me.
"No, can't say I have," I said, shrugging.
"It's good. Like best in the whole state good. She could be making one-hundred per set for what she can do. Plus tip. She could be making something close to six figures a year. And Lily paid you, what, thirty-grand?" she asked, looking at her sister. "I mean, that is better than a lot of nail techs get, but you deserve more."
"I think she overestimates my skills," Shy said, shaking her head.
"Yeah?" Belle asked, stalking over toward us, grabbing a small binder out of the shelf below the desktop, and flipping it open. "This is what she does."
I mean, I was no expert at nails. But I knew a lot of women. And many, if not most, of them had fake nails. None of them had anything near the elaborate art on them that the hands in the pictures had.
"Think your sister might be right," I declared as Belle flipped through several more pages before closing the book, giving her sister a classic 'told you so' look.
"We are always saying if we only had a couple more hours a day to work on marketing, we could get the business going strong. Well, we have it now," Belle said, giving her sister another of those tight smiles, fake cheerful.
"True," Shy said, sighing out her breath. "Okay. Well, that will be the plan then. But we have to do it here, McCoy says."
"I'm not going back to my apartment," Belle blurted out immediately, making Shy tense.
"Okay," she agreed. "That's fine. I love having you here."
"I might suggest some shin guards if you're going to be sharing a bed, though," I said, getting a giggle out of Belle and small eyes from Shy.
"I was just telling your sister that, for the time being, having you guys here is best," I told Belle. "In fact, if you don't leave the apartment at all, I would prefer that."
"We have to leave sometimes," Shy said, shaking her head. "We need groceries and pet supplies."
"Order it to be dropped off," I suggested.
"Do you think we are in that much danger?" Belle asked, tense.
"Here's the deal, kid," I said, sighing as I moved to stand. "To get you back, we made them believe that Shy killed me. Ambulance, police, fake news articles, the whole thing."
"But you're not dead."
"Exactly. And it is bound to come out eventually."
"Shouldn't we leave town then?" Belle asked, voice hitching.
"If it comes to that, sure," I agreed, keeping my tone calm and even, sensing she was about to head into a full-blown panic attack if I didn't deescalate the situation. "I'm not just going to leave you to fend for yourselves," I clarified. "Someone is going to be here with you. If not in the apartment, then outside somewhere close by. And we also have the clubhouse. Or a safe house in Miami where we can stash you if you need somewhere to go immediately."
Teddy wouldn't mind. He never did when it involved the girls. It didn't matter if he barely knew them, he would open up his doors and give them the kind of luxury experience that most women would never get to take part in.
I had no idea what made him like that, but I was glad he was. For Shy and Belle's sake. Because, while I wouldn't say this to them, I was almost sure it was going to come to that. Maybe not that day, or the next. But eventually.
"You seriously have a safe house?" Shy asked, dubious.
"We do. The kind of place with thousand thread count sheets and a tub deep enough for you and five of your friends to fit in."
Shy looked over at Belle, her lips twitching as the two shared a silent conversation. "I am very much in fear of my life," Shy declared, deadpan. "I think it might be wise for us to take a luxury vacation. I mean... hide out in the safe house," she said, giving me a smile.
"I'm sure we can arrange for that even if you don't need to hide out there," I told them. "For now, though, I think you can stay here. Take in clients."
"Are you going to be here?" Shy asked, gaze slipping away to hide whatever was on her face.
Hope?
Or was that just my wishful thinking?
"Yeah, it will probably mostly be me," I told them. "Since I'm dead anyway, so I can't be going back and forth to my clubhouse."
"You don't have a bag," Belle observed.
"I can get someone to drop some shit off. Actually, I'm going to go make that call, let everyone know what is going on," I said, nodding back toward the bedroom, getting a nod from Shy.
"Hey, McCoy," Shy called, making me turn back.
"Yeah?"
"Do you eat breakfast?"
"Babe, if you're cooking, absolutely," I said, getting a big smile from her.
"Well, I'm cooking," she said, giving me a smile that I could only call teasing. Suggestive. Maybe even flirtatious.
"Then I'm eating," I told her, hearing a hoarseness slip into my voice, and I couldn't help but wonder if she knew what I was thinking about eating.