He’d insisted on calling me Bethany-Melissa ever since, and he’d stiffly correct anyone who even tried shortening it to anything else. I was never Beth in his presence. Or even just Bethany. I couldn’t even fathom what he’d make of Rebel calling me Disney.
I doubted he’d ever get the chance to school her on the correct use of my name though. My father would likely perish on the spot if he stepped inside Psychos.
Nash pulled the door open for me, then did the same with the door on his Jeep.
“Ah, thank you,” I murmured. “You don’t have to do that though. I’m not a princess.”
“Rebel seems to think otherwise.”
He closed the door and jogged around to his side, sliding behind the steering wheel.
The interior of his car was old and tattered but clean enough. The seats were faded, and mine had a small tear in the fabric, but the floormats had been vacuumed recently, and there was nothing but a soft-looking gray sweatshirt on the back seat. I busied myself by gazing around and out the window, all too aware that I’d again found myself alone with a man Caleb wouldn’t approve of.
But I needed to talk to Nash. And I needed some sort of beverage to do that. A glass of red wine might have been my first choice if he hadn’t pointed out the hour. So coffee would have to do.
Neither of us spoke during the car ride, but it was only a few minutes’ drive to a diner on the main strip. Nash parked in front of it, and I got out quickly before he could come and open the door for me.
“You remember this place?”
I stepped through the door ahead of him, gaze bouncing around the brown leather booths and cream floor tiles. “No. Should I?”
He shrugged. “Probably not. It’s had a facelift since you lived here.”
“My mother never took me anywhere to eat. Me eating was never high on her priority list.”
He didn’t comment on that bleak statement. He probably already knew, since he’d been there to witness it firsthand. He pointed at a booth in a back corner. “That’s my regular table.”
I made a beeline for it, Nash so close behind me I was sure I could feel his body heat through the thin material of my blouse. I scurried across one side, hoping he wouldn’t sit beside me.
He didn’t. He took the seat opposite, watching me in the same quiet way he always had. That was almost worse because it meant I had nowhere to focus but right on him.
I didn’t want to notice how attractive he’d become. It was better to try to keep him in that big brother box, where he’d firmly sat until I’d walked back into his life.
My back was to the waitresses behind the glass counter that showed off an array of pies and cakes, but Nash waved to someone, and a moment later, two mugs of steaming-hot coffee were placed in front of us.
Grateful for something to do with my hands, I raised my mug to my mouth to take a sip.
“Careful,” Nash warned. “They make it hot around here.”
Warning heeded, I blew gently across the top of the brown liquid, clearing some of the steam rising from it.
Nash didn’t touch his mug. His hands remained flat on the tabletop. “So, you want to tell me what the hell happened last night?”
I lifted one shoulder. “There’s not much to say, other than what I told you at the bar. Someone broke into my fiancé’s house and informed me, rather impolitely and abruptly, that since I now owned Psychos, I also owned its drug debt. Twenty thousand for last month and another twenty thousand for this month.”
Nash’s mouth flattened out into a thin line, but that was his only reaction. “Okay. Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it.”
No way was that a satisfactory response. “Excuse me if I don’t just take your word for it when some drug lord plans to take the payment out on me if I don’t cough up the money.”
His gaze narrowed. “I’m not gonna fucking let that happen, Bliss.”
I instinctively knew he was telling the truth. But it wasn’t enough. “I still need to know.”
He finally nodded. “Fine. Technically, it’s not Psychos that has the debt. The bar runs at a tidy, legal profit. Everything is above board. We pay our employees above minimum wage and we pay taxes. Everything is on the up and up.”
Dread gathered in the pit of my stomach. “Why do I sense a ‘but’ coming?”
Nash took a sip of his steaming coffee and winced. “Fuck, that’s still really hot.” He set it back down. His gaze raised to meet mine.
I didn’t turn away. I needed to know everything he knew so I knew what on earth I was going to do next. “Nash, please, just tell me.”