Page 18 of Executing Malice

Fuck!

Mortified, I drop behind the computer and cup my scorched face in both palms.

“What is wrong with you?” I groan.

I have no answers for myself, but I do know I can’t stay here ... I need to go back. I need to unlock the damn door.

Maybe no one will come. Maybe today will be the day everyone is too busy for banking.

My wishful thinking is immediately dashed when I hear the distinct thump of the lock catching followed by the gentle rapping of knuckles on glass.

Goddamn it.

Resigned, I grab the first thing within reach and pop up like I meant to make a fool of myself. I smile at Daisy DeLuca when we make eye contact.

She smiles and waves.

The empty receipt basket I grabbed on a whim is set down and I hurry to let her in. I’m careful not to look beyond her pretty face as I step back.

“Morning!” she says.

I grin back. “Sorry about that. I must have forgotten to unlock the door.”

Daisy, her wild mane in a heavy knot bunched up at the top of her head, waves the hand not gripping her red pencil case. Her green eyes gleam in the sharp morning light.

“It happens. I just want to deposit last week’s payroll.”

She holds up her case as proof.

Daisy is one of the sweetest people I know, and yet there are days I have to stop the spear of jealousy at how effortlessly gorgeous she is. She’s in faded jeans and a loosely knitted sweater falling off one shoulder and still looks like she belongs on the cover of some Bohemian, desert rose magazine.

I have to swallow the bubble of irritation as the nagging voice can’t help wondering if the biker also thinks Daisy is gorgeous. He’d have to be blind and stupid if he doesn’t. But enough that he might try to pursue her?

She can have him,I think grumpily. If he’s that easily swayed, do I even want him?

Still, darn Daisy and her beauty making us lesser mortals unworthy.

I bottle up the plummet of my good mood and walk her to the counter.

“Are you booking a booth at the festival?” I ask, redirecting my thoughts as I start the process of depositing her money.

Sunlight plays through the coiled tendrils falling free of her knot to tangle with the cluster of stones and wires dangling from her ears. They swing with her nod.

“Trying. Just waiting for approval.”

I fight not to grimace, or tell her this close to the day, odds are she’s already been declined. The festival booths get finalized in August. I know because Peggy Sue submits the deposits at the end of the month.

I offer her a smile. “Have you talked to Peggy Sue?”

Daisy’s light dims a notch. “She’s a hard lady to track down. Left her a million messages.”

I bite my lip, locking in the bubble of words wedged in my throat. I process her funds and pass her the slip to sign.

“You know,” I blurt, unable to hold back any longer, “you should visit Maisie’s around one-ish this afternoon.” I raise my eyebrows and stare into her soft eyes.

Daisy blinks. Then realization dawns and she grins.

“You know what?” She plucks her printout from my fingers. “Maybe I will.”