Page 59 of One Good Crash

Funny, he hadn't phrased it as a question. Speaking very clearly now, he said, "Whoasked you to leave?"

I stifled a shiver. His voice, normally so rich and warm, had grown ice-cold.

Suddenly, I didn't want to tell him. Or at least, thenicepart of me didn't want to. The nastier part wanted to give him a blow-by-blow of the redhead's rudeness. But that really wasn't my style.

When the silence stretched out, he said, "You can tell me now or tell me later."

"What doesthatmean?" I asked.

"It means," he said, "I'm gonna find out. If not from you, then from someone." His voice grew a few degrees colder. "And then, we're gonna have a talk."

I hesitated. "Who? You and me? Or you and the person who kicked me out?"

"That depends."

"On what?"

"On who did it." Almost to himself, he added, "If it's a guy, the conversation's gonna be a short one."

Listening, I recalled the stains on his tuxedo shirt. Hadthosebeen the result of a "short conversation?" I was almost afraid to speculate.

But I did know one thing for certain. I didn't want any violence on my behalf. I said, "It wasn't a guy."

Slowly, he leaned back in the booth. "Right. It was Morgan."

I felt my brow wrinkle. "Actually, she never told me her name."

"It doesn't matter. I know who it is."

"You do? Then why'd you ask?"

He smiled. "Better safe than sorry."

The smile caught me off guard. A moment ago, he looked ready to murder someone. And now, he was fine?

I just had to ask, "Why are you smiling?"

"Because I got what I wanted."

"Which is…?"

"A job vacancy."

"Sorry, but…" I gave a little shake of my head. "What?"

"You want a job?"

The question surprised me. "What kind of job?"

"A personal assistant job."

For who? Him?It sure sounded that way. Probably, I should've been happy. But I saw this for what it was. It was a pity job – or worse, something to keep me from walking the streets or something.

Before I could catch myself, I'd already announced, "I'm not a hooker."

He frowned. "I never said you were."

"I know."