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His handsome mouth turned down, mocking her. “So sorry.”
“No, you’re not.” She gave his arm a playful swat. He’d most likely seen her standing alone and wanted company, but she needed to get rid of him. Politely. If her brother saw her talking to anyone, he’d never approach. “What are you doing here?”
“Catching the parade.” He braced a foot on the rung of a stool, effectively caging her. “I figured this corner would be a good spot to catch Bacchus. What about you?”
“Oh, the usual.” She casually uncovered her watch face and gulped at the time. Les could get here anytime. She needed to make Paul disappear. Now.
“What are you drinking? We need to give these people some business.”
“I’ve reached my limit.” One ginger ale on the rocks.
He signaled to one of the bartenders. “Sure you don’t want a drink for old times’ sake?”
Mitch would have merely raised that eyebrow after she’d declined, not badgered her. “If you insist, I’d like another ginger ale, thanks.”
“Nothing stronger?”
“No.” She needed to stay sharp.
Paul placed their order and waited for the barkeep to serve them. “You’re meeting someone.”
She fingered the straw in her drink. “I thought so.”
He leaned against the counter and swirled his Scotch. “You got to stop setting yourself up to be hurt.”
He should talk. Paul had hurt her bad. Or rather, she’d allowed him to annihilate her. She was managing to stand up for herself with Mitch. Whether or not that was the right thing to do.
“I hope it’s not that soldier I saw you with at the river.” Paul watched her over the rim of his whiskey glass.
“Mitch is perfectly nice.” And helpful and considerate and she shouldn’t be going behind his back like this.
Paul shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t see you with him.”
Why did he care? She shifted to put more space between them and trod on someone’s shoe. “Oops, sorry.”
“Well?” Paul eyed her over the rim of his glass.
She tossed the straw, now twisted into a knot. “If you have to know, I was supposed to meet my brother.”
A burst of laughter rose from the customers next to them, and Paul winced. “At least it doesn’t matter how noisy the place is. You can just talk with your hands.” He wiggled his fingers randomly and laughed.
“My brother can speak. You know that. I sign when I talk to him to make sure he understands.” She started to explain more about his loss but stopped. Paul didn’t care, and she didn’t need to make him understand.
Get him talking but keep watching the room. “Tell me what’s going on at VIP Tours.”
She made appropriate responses to his latest news, and ten more minutes passed. She’d decided to make a ladies’ room run and find a rear exit when goose bumps rippled down the back of her neck.
“Let’s get out of here.” Paul set his glass on the bar counter. “We can find some place quieter to talk.”
A prickling sensation spread over her scalp and down her neck and arms. Had Les finally arrived?
* * *
Admit defeat. Mitch swept his gaze around the inside of the dark bar again, his phone at his ear. Outside, lights from one of the supersize Bacchus floats flashed through the front windows, silhouetting the crowd inside.
He’d been standing next to Bea when the woman had talked to Cath, but that had been twenty minutes ago. She could have left the premises before he’d even arrived.
“She hasn’t come back,” Hal said as soon as he answered. “I take it you didn’t find her.”