“Better hope you don’t get audited.” No smile this time, but he did give me a raised eyebrow.

Mali was watching everything closely now. When Kael came out into the lobby after his session, she had been busy nearby, humming to herself while wiping the fingerprints from the glass door. Now she’d given up even the pretense of cleaning. I had forgotten she was even here, honestly.

“See you tonight?” I asked, as he approached the door.

“Yeah. For sure.”

He waved to me and said a polite goodbye to Mali, calling her ma’am and all. The door closed and she turned her attention to me.

“Mhm?”

“Mhm what?” I closed the cash register and stuck the tip in my pocket.

Her eyes fell on the door again and a Cheshire-cat grin spread across her face. “Oh, nothing.”

“Stop gossiping,” I told her, as I disappeared down the hallway.

Her voice followed me. “You’re not painting my walls!”

I rolled my eyes and went back into my room.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

I was keen to go home while the sun was shining—for once. That’s why I didn’t stay to clean as thoroughly as I usually did. I still put a load of towels into the dryer and opened a couple of boxes of products and put everything away, wishing my coworkers would do a little more to pick up the slack around here.

The alley was busy when I left. Bradley was helping a customer load a king-size mattress into the back of a truck when he waved to me, friendly as ever.

I pulled out my phone to open Instagram when my brother’s name popped up on the screen.

“Austin, what the hell is going on? Are you okay?” I didn’t bother with hello. I had no time for formalities.

“I’m fine. It’s fine. Really, Kare, it’s not that big of a deal. It was just a fight.”

“A fight? With who?”

He sighed for a second. “Some guy. I don’t know. I was out somewhere and this guy was giving a girl at the bar shit.”

I rolled my eyes and pressed my body against the bushes lining the alleyway so a church van full of kids could pass.

“So you’re telling me that this whole thing stemmed from your chivalry?”

Austin was good at spinning things. He would make a wonderful publicist for a messy celebrity—or a horrible husband.

“Yes. That’s exactly what I’m saying,” he said, laughing.

His voice was calming—it was like hearing an old song you had forgotten you loved. I’d really missed him.

“Right. So how much trouble are you in?”

“I don’t know.” He paused.

I thought I heard the flick of a lighter. “Dad bailed me out . . . which sucks, because now I’m going to owe him money.”