It’s also killing me.
I’m wiping down the bar, trying to focus on the task instead of the memory of Mei’s mouth against mine, when the front door opens with authority. Not the casual push of a regular patron but the deliberate motion of someone who expects doors to open for them. I glance up, a greeting already forming on my lips, and feel my stomach drop.
Grishnak.
Not Vex, his usual enforcer, but the goblin himself. Six feet of deliberate menace wrapped in a snakeskin suit that probably cost more than my monthly liquor order. He’s broad through the shoulders, with deep moss-green skin and the calculated patience of a man who has lawyers on retainer. Gold chains catch the light as he moves. Three of them, layered over a silk shirt that’s unbuttoned one button too many. His cufflinks are shaped like dollar signs, studded with what might be actual diamonds. A platinum watch the size of a small plate gleams on his wrist.
He pauses in the doorway, taking in the crowd with the assessment of someone evaluating competition, before making his way to the bar with unhurried confidence. The smell hits me before he does. Cologne. Expensive cologne applied with absolutely no restraint, a cloying mix of leather and somethingthat might be sandalwood but smells more like a department store exploded.
He looks nothing like the caricature. No warty nose, no hunched back. But he’s rough-cut in a way elves never are. His features are sharp, angular, with a slight yellowish tinge to his eyes and subtle points to his teeth that show when he smiles. Everything about him screams money and power and absolutely no taste in how to display either.
“Tovek,” he says, his voice smooth with the polish of expensive education. “It’s been a while.”
“Grishnak.” I keep my tone neutral, professional. “What can I get you?”
He smiles, the expression not reaching his eyes. “I’m not here for a drink. I’m here for your chef.” He glances toward the kitchen, where Mei is visible through the pass window, focused on the ticket rail. “The famous Noodle Queen. I’ve heard remarkable things about her revival.”
Every instinct I have is screaming danger. Grishnak doesn’t visit competitors out of professional courtesy. He doesn’t compliment talent he doesn’t plan to acquire or destroy. If he’s here, it’s because he’s spotted an opportunity or a threat.
“She’s busy,” I say, keeping my voice level. “We’re in service.”
“I’ll wait.” He takes a seat at the bar, his movements deliberate. Those gold chains clink softly as he settles onto the stool. “And I’ll have a whiskey. Neat. The good stuff, not the well.”
I pour two fingers of our top-shelf bourbon, setting it in front of him without comment. My skin prickles with awareness. Not threatened, exactly, but assessed, evaluated for weakness. Grishnak doesn’t make empty gestures. If he’s here, he’s already three moves ahead.
Mei appears at my elbow, two plates balanced on her forearm with the skill of someone who’s been doing it for years. “Orderfor table twelve,” she says, not quite meeting my eyes. “The house special and extra wings.”
“I’ll take it,” I offer, reaching for the plates.
She shakes her head. “I’ve got it.” She turns to go, then freezes when she spots Grishnak.
The change is immediate. Her shoulders go rigid, her grip on the tray tightens until her knuckles go white. Recognition flashes across her face, followed by something that looks like dread before she smooths it into professional neutrality. She knows him. And whatever their history is, it’s not good.
“I’ll be right back,” she says, her voice carefully controlled, and disappears into the dining room.
Grishnak watches her go, his expression thoughtful. “She looks even better in person,” he says. “The camera doesn’t do her justice.”
My hand tightens on the bar rag. “You know her?”
“We’ve had dealings.” He takes a sip of his whiskey, considering. “The Noodle Queen is something of a legend in certain circles. Her fall from grace was quite spectacular. As is her recovery.” He gestures to the packed dining room with one ring-laden hand. “You’ve done well with her. The place has potential.”
It’s not a compliment. It’s a claim. The assessment of someone who sees value they might want to own.
Mei returns to the bar, her movements careful, deliberate. She’s changed something. Tucked her hair more securely, straightened her apron, adjusted her expression to something more neutral. She’s nervous, I realize. Not the professional tension she brings to service but real fear, carefully controlled.
“Mr. Grishnak,” she says, her voice steady despite the white knuckles where she’s gripping the edge of the bar. “This is a surprise.”
“Not at all.” He smiles, revealing more of those pointed teeth. “I’ve been meaning to congratulate you on your comeback. The Drunken Dragon’s renaissance is quite the topic of conversation.”
She nods, not quite meeting his eyes. “Thank you. We’ve been fortunate.”
“Indeed.” He reaches into his jacket, pulling out a business card that he slides across the bar. The card itself is gaudy. Embossed gold lettering, too thick, with what looks like actual gold leaf around the edges. “I have a proposition for you, Chef Tan. One I think you’ll find very attractive.”
Mei picks up the card, her movements careful. “I’m listening.”
“I’m expanding my restaurant portfolio,” Grishnak says, leaning forward slightly. That cologne intensifies, making my eyes water. “Three new flagship locations opening in the next six months. High-end, celebrity clientele, unlimited budgets. I want you to run the kitchens.”
He pauses, letting that sink in. Mei’s expression doesn’t change, but I can see the tension in her shoulders.
