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“Fine, I think?” I held it up to my face to examine it. I wiggled my fingers, confirming nothing was broken or sprained. My knuckles were a little red, but thanks to all the extra adrenaline, I probably wouldn’t feel the effects until later. Totally worth it.
“My little slugger,” Ansel said with a satisfied sigh, wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me into his side. He tipped his face down towards me, smirking. “What I want to know is who taught you to punch like that? And why didn’t you use your secret weapon last night when that demon had you pressed up against a wall?”
I rolled my eyes at his last question. “In my defense, it’s hard to remember to punch someone when they are squeezing the life out of your windpipe.” Ansel nodded, no argument there. “And to answer your first question, I learned it in boxercise. It’s a dance class mixed with boxing movements. My instructor always told me I had a good arm. I just didn’t believe her until now.”
He unwrapped his arm from my waist to open the door of the restaurant for me.
I paused in the middle of the doorway, staring inside. A thought struck me. I looked up at Ansel, still holding open the door. “Do you think Carter is going to report us to the police?”
Ansel looked thoughtful. “He could. But honestly, it doesn’t really matter, you’re already in hiding.” I gave him a skeptical look. “I was serious when I told him to never bother you again. If he does and tries to press charges or sue you, I’ll pay him another visit and persuade him to drop the charges or any notions of litigation. I can be very persuasive.”
Nothing truer could be said about Ansel. He was persuasive outside the bedroom just much as he was inside. A shiver ran down my spine thinking about how he got his enemies to obey. They didn’t get mind-blowing orgasms, that was for sure.
It did make me feel better that no matter what Carter ended up doing; I wasn’t scared because Ansel had my back.
“Do you have a reservation?” the hostess asked us dryly once we reached her desk. She gave us the once-over and the disgusted curl in her red lips told me she knew for a fact that we didn’t have a reservation.
Why did I let Ansel drag me here?I peered around the hostess to the restaurant behind her. It was packed, even for lunchtime, from what I could tell. And Ansel and I were very much underdressed for this establishment. Even if the no-reservation issue didn’t get us kicked out, our dress code violations probably would.
Ansel didn’t waver. He stood his ground, straightening the broad expanse of his shoulders. “Can I speak to Martin, please?”
The hostess frowned at Ansel. Not even his good looks could help him here. “He’s busy,” she replied.
Ansel reached into his pocket and retrieved a crisp fifty-dollar bill. He slid it across the desk to the hostess. “I want to speak to him. Tell him Ansel Walsh is here. I’m a close family friend, and I know for a fact Martin would be upset if he found out I left without speaking to him.”
The hostess sighed audibly, and for a moment, I thought she was going to tell us to take our money and leave. But finally, she grabbed the bill and stuffed it into her breast pocket. “Be right back,” she said before disappearing into the back.
The hostess returned a few minutes later with an older-looking elf wearing a white suit jacket following closely behind her.
My heart sunk.This is it. This is the moment we get kicked out of the fanciest restaurant in the city.
The elf’s entire face brightened as soon as he saw Ansel. “Mr. Walsh, hello! It is so good to see you again,” he said. The elf reached out and took Ansel’s hand, the green palm completely enveloping his own.
After Ansel introduced the elf to me as Martin, we quietly followed him through the restaurant, passing other tables of finely dressed couples—mostly elves and fae, with a few humans scattered here and there. No goblins. No orcs, besides Ansel.
“So sorry about her,” Martin said to Ansel, motioning back over his shoulder towards the hostess’s desk. “She’s new. She doesn’t know about the table we keep set and ready for you and your family, or the debt I owe your parents for what they did for my business. But then again, it happened when I first opened this place, so most of my staff doesn’t know, I suppose.”
“That was a long time ago,” Ansel replied, as if to excuse the hostess’s rude behavior.
Martin stopped outside a closed door and pulled a set of keys from his pocket. He turned to face Ansel, giving the orc a thoughtful look. “No matter how long it’s been, I will never forget. It will always be fresh in here,” he tapped at his temple, “and in here,” he added, tapping at his chest.
Ansel quietly inclined his head in thanks.
Martin unlocked the door and opened it wide for us, revealing a private room with a stunning view of the bay. Ansel pulled out my seat at the table covered with a white cloth.
Martin lingered in the doorway, waiting for us to take our seats. “Your server will be here shortly,” Martin said to both of us. He hesitated, as if there was something he wanted to say, but was still working up the nerve. Finally, he placed his hand on his chest, giving Ansel a sad look. “I heard about what happened to your parents. I know it doesn’t mean much, but I wanted to offer my deepest condolences. I have a few orcs on staff, and this has been a devastating loss that has been felt throughout the city. Your parents did a lot for their community and their presence is dearly missed.” When Martin was finished, he turned and disappeared, closing the door behind him.
I let the silence settle for a few minutes before I dared a glance at Ansel. When I did, he was staring at the window with a faraway look in his gray eyes.
I placed my hand on his thigh, my splayed palm not even covering half of his leg. “I’m not the only one with surprises today,” I murmured, giving him a little smile to try to lighten the mood.
Ansel blinked, breaking out of whatever memory he found himself in. He offered me a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You don’t have to talk about it right now if it’s too hard, but I’d love to hear how your parents helped Martin’s business.”
Ansel picked up an empty wine glass and twirled the stem between his fingers. “When Martin first opened his restaurant, he struggled to keep his doors open. He had already maxed out on the amount of money he could borrow from the banks, so he had to turn to my family for help. He had to borrow money from my parents.”
A chill ran down my spine. Ansel had said his parents were good, but they were also mafia. “What would have happened if Martin hadn’t paid your parents back?”
Ansel shrugged a shoulder. “People always paid my parents on time. They made sure of it,” he said flatly. “I said they were good people, but they weren’t perfect. And they could be very persuasive, especially if someone owed them money.”
