Then when he sends me emails, which I’m always checking, I get this stupid weird feeling in the pit of my stomach. It’s frustrating not being able to control my reaction to him. To top it off, I know I’m being childish by avoiding him. I should be trying to work with him more. Help ease how busy I am at work, but here I am, being immature, which is something I’ve never done in my life when it comes to work. Though he seems to be solving a lot of my problems here at work without a lot of my help. Which only makes me think about him even more and all he’s doing for me. He’s going above and beyond and I’m acting like a brat.

Something about Royce isn’t sitting right with me. It’s like I’m missing something about him. I thought a few times about digging into him but changed my mind. I knew I wanted it for personal reasons, and I was not turning into some stalker like so many of my family members.

Dropping my head in my hands, I groan. I release a deep breath and look up at my computer to see that it’s time for me to meet up with Delilah. I pick up my phone from my desk and slip it into the back pocket of my slacks.

Reaching into the top drawer of my desk, I pull out some lipstick and put it on before heading out toward Lincoln’s. When I get there, I’m once again surprised to see it’s so busy.

I see Delilah sitting at a table in the back, two beers in front of her and a couple plates of food. I walk over, take my blazer off, and sit on the chair.

“Hey,” I say. She barely notices me as she looks around the bar.

“Hey,” she replies with a small nod.

I reach down and pick up my beer, taking a few big pulls from it and enjoying the cold burn.

“Something’s going on downstairs,” she finally says, looking over at me.

“Really?” I glance to the back door and watch as people file in and out. In fact, the crowd has slowly gotten smaller as more people slip down there.

“Yeah, but no one is talking about what it is. I’ve had my ears open, but nothing.” She looks over at me, pulling her eyes from the door. One eyebrow rises, and I know what she wants to do.

“Can I at least finish my beer and shove a few nachos in my mouth?” I ask her.

“That will take you two seconds,” she laughs. I shrug and shove some nachos in my mouth before polishing off my beer. I stand with her and throw a few twenties on the table.

We make our way toward the door, and I wonder if anyone is going to stop us, but they don’t. I walk down the stairs first. They lead down to a dark, narrow hallway, but I can hear noise coming from somewhere below. That’s when light floods the space at the back of the room. The noise gets louder, and people are chanting. The place is dirty and smells like sweat.