“I’m Agent Grayson.”
Egner went white as a sheet.
“You done stalling?”
Egner scrambled down the hall without another word.
As Grayson turned into the main room, Reece scratched his head. “Whydoes everyone at Stone Solutions think you’re so scary?” he asked, as he scurried after Grayson toward the granite-topped bar that ran along one of the brick walls. “Aren’t you only dangerous to empaths? And isn’t half of your attention reserved for your hair?”
“You implying hair care is scary? That would explain some things.”
“No,”Reece said. “I’mimplyin’that the only thing that scares Stone Solutions more than empaths isyou.”
The TVs above the bar were still tuned to sports—football maybe, but Reece wasn’t going to look again. A tip jar plastered with AMI and Stone Solutions stickers was prominently displayed by the register and the guy with complicated hair was still rummaging around behind the bar.
“Benjamin Castillo?” At Reece’s side eye, Grayson said, “You really think I walked in here without a list of employees and their schedules?”
Reece rubbed his temples as the bartender straightened.
“Just Ben’s fine.” Like Diesel, Ben had a sweet, friendly face, the kind that probably had people instantly spilling their guts over the bar; the kind people expected empaths like Reece to have. Ben had a glass in hand and was drying it with a small towel as his gaze darted over Grayson. “You said my last name right.”
“I’d hope so,” Grayson said dryly. “It was one of my grandmothers’.”
“Oh, I love it when people surprise me.” Ben pointed to his hair with the towel. “Love it when people don’t fit everyone else’s stereotypes and perfect little boxes. Granted, it’s probably less that we’re long-lost cousins and more that your ancestors helped themselves to the Philippines, but you don’t look like you’re here to colonize my bar.”
“The less you know about me, the better off you’ll be,” Grayson said.
“Really,” Ben said. “What scandalous thing do you do? Telenovela star?”
“Nothing that glamorous,” said Grayson, which was a neat sidestep ofI’m an urban legend, but make it hot.
Reece tapped the tip jar. “What’s with the stickers?”
“Funny, right?” Ben’s gaze had fallen on Reece’s gloves. “Are you new? You’re early. The companions don’t start for a couple hours.”
“I don’t work here.”
“So you’ve come for a drink?” Ben’s expression turned cagey. “Ah, one moment.”
He ducked behind the bar.
“You have grandparents?” Reece said to Grayson. “You didn’t just crawl out of a grave somewhere?”
“We’re gonna file the Dead Man’s family underthings empaths don’t want to hear about.”
Reece frowned as Ben reappeared, pulling on black gloves. “Sorry,” he said. “Took them off while washing dishes. We’re not really open yet, but I can get you something. Empaths are super understanding like that.”
Grayson coughed.
Ben gestured to Reece’s gloves. “It’s okay if you want to wear your costume in here. We empaths keep this club a judgment-free zone.”
Reece pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re not an empath.”
“Sure I am.”
Reece held up his own gloved hands. “Government-issued, created from a patented, top secret weave including heavy metal threads to block me from reading anyone through an accidental touch.” He pointed at Ben’s. “Pretty sure those are polyester and from some dodgy costume shop. You know impersonating an empath is illegal?”
Ben shrank back. “I just work here, and Frodo wants everyone to—”
