Free Randall #03 - Sherwood Ltd. by Anne R. Allen

expression even darker than Davey’s.
    “You’re buying tonight, Peter,” he said. “Brenda says it’s cash only from now on. Which we ain’t got, on account of our paychecks bouncing, doncha know. Me bank account wouldn’t spit out a penny at the hole-in-the-wall today. Same with all of us.”
    Liam gave Peter a sulky look over his bottle of Belgian lager and Davey nodded.
    Vera’s slow depositing seemed to be having a lot of repercussions. Odd that Peter didn’t look concerned.
    “Alan was kind enough to buy us a round.” Ratko nodded at the karaoke man.
    Alan turned to me. “Nice to see you again, Duchess. I hope you’ve got your thinking cap on. These blokes have lost the past three quiz nights.”
    So “Duchess” seemed to be my new nickname. It wasn’t flattering to be linked with the unpopular, aging second wife of the Prince of Wales, but I smiled anyway.
    Alan leaned over the table to whisper to Peter as Brenda came bustling toward us. “Word to the wise,” he said, “Me Brenda’s on the warpath. You stuck her with a rubber Gregory as well. You’d better make it good or there will be hell to pay.”
    Brenda’s expression was icy as she stood by the table, looking as if she might throw us all out. I assumed “rubber Gregory” was Cockney slang for a bounced check, and Sherwood, Ltd. had given her a bad check, too.
    I did hope the same thing wouldn’t happen with my advance.

Chapter 17—Quiz Night
     
    Peter seemed unfazed by Brenda’s anger. He gave her a grin and handed her a large banknote, then ordered another round, plus pies, and a couple of pints for the two of us. At least Peter’s personal cash seemed to be flowing freely. I looked again at his pricey watch and shoes. Brenda and his employees had a right to be angry about the bad checks, but it did seem to be a minor problem. Peter was obviously good at making money. And it sounded as if he intended to find me a more upscale home than the Merry Miller.
    Until then, it would be something of a romantic adventure to share his office-digs. I snuggled against him as he pulled me close.
    But his employees didn’t seem happy about my new position as the boss’s consort. Davey continued to glower from under his feral brows; Liam seemed overly engrossed in rolling a cigarette; and Tom avoided eye contact altogether. Only Ratko gave me a smile, but it held a hint of mockery.
    Brenda brought the beer and pies, still in her silent huff. From the stage, Alan raised his beer to Peter in a gesture of thanks.
    Taking a pie, Ratko spoke to Peter. “Alan’s been asking when you’re going to decide on some manuscript by a lady friend of his. He says she’s hammering him for an answer. Is it bollocks?”
    Peter sighed. “I can’t imagine how it wouldn’t be, but I haven’t had time to read it. Did you see that stack of rubbish on my desk? Which one is hers?”
    “Some Robin Hood thing,” Ratko said. “Alan claims she’s an American author he met in the States. Probably some slapper from the East End. If she even exists.”
    “Alan says she’s made a life work of studying the old Robin Hood ballads,” said Liam, his red dreadlocks shaking in disagreement. “With our Robin Hoodish logo and all, he thought we should have a Robin Hood book.”
    “Yes, but not a rubbish Robin Hood book. I’ve already turned down two—both from gormless Americans. You’d think after Kevin Costner’s fiasco and Russell Crowe’s snoozer, they’d leave the Robin Hooding to us Brits.” Peter gave Liam a sharp look. “And since when is Alan an expert on book publishing?”
    “The Baron’s an expert on everything,” Davey said with heavy sarcasm. “I suppose you believe his story that he studied at Oxford, too?”
    “I ain’t saying a word against a man when I’m drinking his beer,” Liam said. “I can look at the lady’s manuscript. It would make a nice break from the pervy shite.”
    Peter shook his head. “I can’t spare you. I need you