“No. You don’t get soft-voice privileges right now.”
The twitch disappeared.
He learned fast.
“Did you know what kind of contract I signed?” I asked.
“I knew it was bad.”
“How bad?”
“Bad enough that I shouldn’t discuss terms on the beach before you’ve had coffee and a lawyer.”
My stomach tightened. “I don’t have money for a lawyer.”
“I know.”
The two words landed too gently, and I lifted one hand before I had to deal with that.
“Don’t make that face.”
“What face?”
“The sorry one.”
“I’m not sorry for you.”
“You have a face.”
“I’ve been told.”
“It’s doing things.”
He stared at the sand for half a second, then lifted his head. “I’m angry.”
“With me?”
“With the contract. With Sal. With myself.”
“That’s a lot of men for one emotion.”
“It’s been a long night.”
“You became seafood at dawn. I’m not comforting you.”
“I’m not asking you to.”
The sun lifted a little more. Morning thinned the gray over the water, turning the surf pale blue and silver. Behind me, Bite Me waited with its locked doors, its sticky floors, its delivery schedule, and every dollar I needed to keep from handing my life over to men who apparently came with gills.
A truck rumbled somewhere near the service alley.
My phone buzzed in my hand.
I flinched hard enough to hate the movement.
Nico’s attention dropped to the screen, but he didn’t step closer.
I looked.
