Page 16 of Faded Gray Lines

Game on, boss.

Emilio cleared his throat, his tone taking on a less enticing tone. “That’s Eden. She left.”

“Then why is her picture still up?”

“House-fucking-orders.”

Hostility. Interesting.

I wanted to push him more just to see if I could get him to crack, but by the anger vibrating off him, being trapped between a wall and his aggression was the last place I needed to be. “Well,” I said, painting on a brilliant smile and turning to face him. “Maybe I’ll be up here someday.”

“I don’t know, Leighton Harcourt. Are your skills good enough to impress me?”

My smile widened, and I held it so long my chin quivered. “I guess you’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you?”

A slow smile crept along his lips, parting them to display a mouthful of silver caps. “Counting on it.”

I nodded, inching sideways. I’d almost passed his office door when he grabbed my arm.

“Oh, and Leighton, I heard you were late. I know everything that goes on in my bar. Underestimating me would be your first mistake here.”

“Absolutely,” I agreed, nodding like a bobblehead. “It won’t happen again.”

He licked his lips. “I’m glad we understand each other.”

* * *

An hour after my run-in with Emilio, I replayed our conversation over in my head. I poured over every word and scrutinized his body language, looking for something to use as a starting point when a voice from behind scared the shit out of me.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Letting out a yelp, I whipped around to see Amanda, her perfectly styled brown hair now disheveled and caked with salsa and guacamole. Crumpling my apron in my hand, I gave it a shake as change jingled inside. “That’s about all I’ve made so far today, so with yours maybe I’ll have enough for the gumball machine.”

“It gets better,” she promised, then squished her face into a grimace. “Well, it gets not so shitty. You get regulars who’ll tip better, and the night crowd wallets are always more open.”

“Well, it can’t get any worse,” I grumbled.

“Not today it doesn’t.”

“Huh?”

“Your first table on your own and you just got sat with one hell of a hottie. I tried to take it off your hands, but he specifically asked for you. I swear, you blondes really do have more fun.”

I started to tell her that blondes also get into more trouble when I happened to glance to where she pointed. I didn’t know whether to be irritated or excited. “That’s no hottie,” I said with a sigh. “That’s my brother.” Leaving her standing there, I stomped toward the small table on the other side of the bar.

Crouching down, I whispered in his ear, “Business lunch get rerouted or did the governor have a hankering for shitty fajitas?”

I expected him to jump. Instead, he straightened his spine and cocked his head. “That’s a hell of a way to sell the menu, sis.”

Trailing a fingernail along the edge of the table, I shifted to stand beside him. He glanced up at me with a sincere smile, certainly looking the part of an assistant district attorney: crisp black suit, white starched shirt, and his signature red power tie.

“Life’s too short to eat bad food.”

He shrugged. “Maybe I really like the salsa.”

Liar.

“Maybe you just wanted to check up on me.”