An expression of true regret swept over her face. “I would love to wave a magic wand and reopen the factory so that all those people could be rehired,” she said, referring to the employees laid off after Saberton bought a farm machinery company and then failed to obtain a hoped-for defense contract. “But the sad and brutal truth is that in order to ensure Saberton lands that contract, I would have to expend every bit of political capital I’ve acquired in the past few months, and owe quite a few favors besides.” She sighed. “I can’t afford to ‘blow my wad’ on the Saberton contract.”
Nick nodded again. “Not when there are bills coming up for programs and funding that have far more impact on this area,” he said. “Wetlands, drilling rights, flood control. It would be a short term fix with long term issues.”
I glanced over at Nick, probably with my mouth hanging open, impressed and surprised that he had a clue. Hell, more than a clue. I caught the gist of what they were talking about, and as much as I wanted to see those factory jobs come back, I had a hard time getting behind anything that helped Saberton Corporation in any way. I figured Pietro couldn’t either, not with their track record of fuck-y’all exploitation of both zombies and regular people. Yet Jane’s reasoning seemed logical and sound, and not at all based on an “I Hate Saberton” point of view. Then again, as far as I knew, Jane still knew nothing about the zombies. I had no idea if or when Pietro planned to tell her, but that sort of thing was waaay into the sort of none-of-my-business that I actually abided by.
Jane smiled at Nick, genuine and appreciative. “You know my pain. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t. I’m going to have to find other solutions for the unemployment situation.” She sighed. “It’s a frustrating dance.”
Pietro leaned in and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “One you do with poise and grace, my dear.”
Jane gave Pietro a warm smile accompanied by a soft-eyed look that left no doubt how she felt about him.
Time for Nick and me to leave the lovebirds to do their thing. “We should get going,” I said. “It was great running into you two.”
Jane reached and touched my arm. “It was wonderful to see you, Angel, and a pleasure to meet you, Nick.”
We made our goodbyes and headed to the counter. I picked up the box with pastries and glanced over at Nick. “How did you know so much about that stuff?”
“I read a lot,” he said with a shrug as he collected the carrier with the drinks. “And this is a hot topic, locally.”
“I’m saving up for a computer,” I said as we headed to the door. “Maybe I can watch news videos or something.” A gust of wind sent leaves scuttling along the sidewalk as we stepped out.
“It’s important to keep up with what’s going on,” he replied with a knowing nod.
“By the way, thanks for asking me to come with you. I needed the distraction.”
He shot me a smug look. “I know.”
Laughing, I punched him in the arm, hard enough for him to feel it, but not hard enough to spill the coffee and chocolate he carried. I had my priorities.
He made a show of rubbing his arm, but we were both smiling when we returned to the office.
Chapter 3
The living room was empty when I walked through my front door, but I heard the shower—our only shower—running. Crap.
“Hey, dad,” I yelled through the bathroom door. “You gonna be much longer?”
“Be a coupla minutes,” he hollered back. “I just got in.”
Double crap. No way could I fake it and go to the lab without a full shower. Not with bone dust in my hair and the smell of yuck clinging to me. “I gotta be somewhere,” I shouted. “And I’m all dirty from the morgue.”
“Yeah, well, if you stop shouting at me I’ll be a lot faster,” he shot back.
Sighing, I bit back an obnoxious comeback. He’d only get revenge by staying in the shower even longer. Stripping off my clothes as I went, I headed to my room and killed some time finding stuff to change into once I no longer reeked of morgue-funk. Well, killed a couple of minutes. Didn’t take long to go through my miniscule wardrobe. So far I’d managed to replace the necessities I lost in the flood: work uniforms, bras and undies, socks, a couple of pairs of jeans and some miscellaneous shirts. And I had exactly one nice outfit—a butt-hugging skirt and a silky blouse, with some fuck-me pumps that I’d scooped up on clearance, beating out a busty redhead who’d been reaching for them.
I resisted the very silly urge to put on the skirt and blouse and pumps since they’d be incredibly inappropriate for going to the lab, and pushed down the totally crazy bit of wondering how Philip would react to me in the outfit—and where the hell had that come from anyway? Instead I found jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt. But with my clothes all nicely laid out, I had nothing left to do except wait with increasing aggravation as the shower continued to run. And now my dad was singing. Singing! Scowling, I wrapped a towel around me and marched back down the hall.
“C’mon, Dad!” I yelled with an accompanying pound on the door. “I’m gonna be late! What the hell’s taking you so long?”
“I’m washing my goddamn hair!”
“Y’only got about twelve hairs on that head of yours!”
His response was to start singing again. Loudly and badly.
It was war.
I tested the doorknob. Locked, and I had a feeling he’d nipped out and done so while I was going through my clothing. Sneaky bastard. But I could be devious too. I ran to the kitchen and turned the cold water on full blast, then went to the half-bathroom near the front of the house, turned that water on, and flushed the toilet for good measure. Listening, I waited, and about fifteen seconds a yelp and cursing rewarded my efforts, followed by the shower going off.
I quickly turned the water off in the bathroom and kitchen, then returned to the hallway outside the main bathroom, leaned against the wall and folded my arms over my towel-covered chest. I heard grumbling and muttering, but also a rustle of sound that I hoped was a towel drying flesh.
My dad yanked the door open and gave me a dark scowl, but I thought I detected a gleam of appreciation in his eye. “You’re lucky I got somewhere to be, Angel,” he huffed, then marched off toward his bedroom with the towel wrapped around his waist, leaving a trail of wet footprints down the hallway.
With a smug smile, I claimed the shower, and didn’t even mind that I had to clean out the drain first.
Since I was already running late, I made do with a quickie shower that was enough to wash the smell of death off me. Probably a good thing I raced through it, since even at super speed the water temp edged toward not-even-close-to-hot by the time I rinsed off. I dressed quickly, shoved my fingers through my wet hair along with a bit of gel, swiped some mascara across my lashes, grabbed my purse, and headed for the door.
Then stopped dead at the sight of my dad standing in the kitchen, buttoning his cuffs and whistling. I sniffed. Cologne? And, wait, cuffs? Not a t-shirt or sweatshirt?
Nope, Dad had on black denim pants—not raggedy jeans—a plaid shirt that actually looked stylish, and cowboy boots. His hair was combed, and his face free from stubble.
“Do you have a job interview?” I asked.
His smile was nothing sort of smug. “Nope. Got me a date.”
It took me a second to re-engage my brain, and I barely stopped myself from saying, With a woman? “With who?” I managed instead.