Dangerous Games by Riley Edwards

Author:Riley Edwards [Edwards, Riley]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781951567200
Publisher: Rebels Romance

14

“Sadie, Mrs. Simpson is here to see you,” Kat called back into the kitchen.

Shit.

“Thanks, I’ll be right there,” I called back then added, “If you would please get her a table and whatever she wants to drink.”

“Already done,” Kat chirped.

Of course it was. I wasn’t the only one afraid of Mrs. Simpson.

Maybe fear was a stretch, but not by much. Mrs. Simpson was a stickler on manners among other things. She was also like a human lie detector. I knew she sensed something was wrong last night at book club, that was why I’d dashed out of there as quickly as I could.

Now I was going to have to lie. Or attempt to lie, at which time, Mrs. Simpson would know and she’d be mad and hurt that I tried to pull a fast one on her.

Gah.

I finished placing the newly decorated cupcakes on a tray and sucked in a fortifying breath. If I was brave, I would call Letty and Brooklyn to come in and rip the Band-Aid off. But I wasn’t brave and I was still holding out hope when I placed the tray of cupcakes in the display case that Mrs. Simpson was just visiting for a coffee and a natter.

I glanced around the full bakery, found the beautiful older woman sitting in the far corner—eyes on me. Posture perfect, hair neatly styled, heavy makeup, jewelry at her ears, neck, and wrists, dressed to the nines. That was Mrs. Simpson—always. Growing up, my mother had never dressed like Mrs. Simpson. She would on occasion throw on a dress and do herself up if that occasion was special. But for the most part, she was casual both in clothes and in her general appearance and she’d passed that down to me. I wondered if Mrs. Simpson’s daughter was like her—a striking beauty who looked runway-ready at all times.

I knew I was taking too long arranging the goodies in my case when I glanced back at Mrs. Simpson and she was scowling.

Shit.

As gracefully as I could, knowing she was watching and would correct my carriage if my shoulders slumped, I walked to her table.

“Good morning, Mrs. Simpson. You look lovely as always.”

“Thank you, Sadie. Please sit with me.”

I bit my lip to stop myself from smiling. I didn’t miss that she had not returned the compliment. Not that she would; Mrs. Simpson didn’t blow sunshine. She said what was on her mind and didn’t hold back. Thus, I knew she was not impressed with my ponytail or the jeans and Treats t-shirt I was wearing. And she likely hated my sneakers more than my clothes.

I took the chair opposite her.

As forementioned, Mrs. Simpson didn’t beat around the bush; she also didn’t waste time.

“Perhaps you were unaware of my business dealings with Mr. Johnson.”

Mr. Johnson?

My landlord.

Dread seeped in and my spine went straight.

Oh, no.

“I was…not aware, no.”

“My portfolio is diverse. A smart woman knows how to maximize and manage her wealth.”

Oh, no, no, no.

“I wish you would’ve come to me,” she softly informed me.

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