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“You are a softie.” I laugh as I head for my desk then grab my purse and walk out to the parking lot, waving goodbye to a few people as I go. When I get in my car, I find my cell phone and dial Talon, listening to it ring and praying he answers.
“Hey, babe.”
“I need you to meet me somewhere,” I blurt, shoving the keys in the ignition and starting the engine.
“What?” I hear the frown in his voice and can picture his brows dragged together, which always makes the dimple in his chin that I love so much seem more pronounced.
“Remember that Mexican place I said I wanted to go to sometime? I need you to meet me there within the next hour.”
“Babe—”
“You should also bring your brother,” I cut him off, thinking on my toes. “I’m having lunch with Harry.” I continue quickly, wanting to reassure him, “I don’t want to have lunch with him, but I got to thinking that maybe this is the perfect opportunity for you to figure out what it is about him that has you on edge.”
“What the fuck, Mia?” he growls, the confusion in his voice replaced with anger or annoyance, but I can’t tell, since I can’t see his face.
“Please just meet me there,” I beg. “And when you get there, pretend like you didn’t know I would be there with him.”
“Pretty sure that won’t be hard to do, since I can’t fucking believe you’re going out to lunch with him, baby.”
“So you’ll meet me?”
“What do you think?” He sighs.
I press my lips together to keep from smiling. “I’ll see you soon.”
“I don’t know what I’m going to do to punish you for this, but I guarantee you I’ll spend the next forty minutes coming up with something,” he mutters. “Be good.”
Rolling my eyes at his clipped tone, I hang up and put on my seatbelt before backing out of my parking space. Then, thinking it’s probably smart to kill some time, I drive to the gas station, fill up my tank, and wander the aisles inside, coming out with a bag of Hot Cheetos and a couple candy bars for later tonight.
I arrive at the restaurant about fifteen minutes later than I said I would, and when I finally walk through the doors, I notice the place is packed for lunch. I spot Harry seated at a booth in the back of the room, facing away from the door and distracted by the phone he’s holding to his ear. He’s obviously waiting anxiously for me to arrive.
“Are you eating alone?” a cute elderly man with a Spanish accent asks, making me jump.
“No, sorry.” I point toward the booth Harry’s sitting in. “I’m meeting someone.”
“Enjoy your lunch.” He smiles, and I grin back before heading across the room.
When I reach the table Harry is at, I slide into the booth across from him, sighing dramatically. “Sorry I’m late. I didn’t know my tank was on empty until I was halfway here,” I lie. “Then I had to drive five minutes out of the way to the gas station.” I take my bag off my shoulder and place it next to me before resting my hands on the table. “Then my credit card wouldn’t work in the machine at the pump, so I had to go inside to pay.”
“You’re here now.” He gives me a placating smile, patting my hand.
“I’m here now,” I agree, picking up one of the two menus from the middle of the table and quickly looking over what kind of alcohol is available, because I don’t think I’ll be able to make it through this lunch without a little bit of liquid courage.
“Are you two ready to order?” a soft, sweet voice asks, and I look up at a very petite, elderly woman with long gray hair and know instantly that the man who greeted me when I arrive must be her husband, and if he’s not, he should be.
“I think so.” I glance at Harry and get his nod. I point at a picture of a margarita that comes in a cute little sand bucket and let her know I’ll have that along with an order of shrimp fajitas.
“You’ve got good taste.” She smiles at me then looks at Harry, who rattles off his order, something I can’t even pronounce, with a beer and a shot of some kind of whiskey. We both hand over our IDs when she asks to see them.
“Thank you.” I accept my ID and hand her the menus, and she smiles before she walks away.
“So.” I turn my attention back to Harry as I rest my elbows on the table, something I’d never normally do. “How does it feel to be the proud new owner of twelve trucks?”
“It doesn’t feel any different than being the part of a multimillion-dollar business.” He shrugs, loosening his tie, his comment about money rubbing me the wrong way.
