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“You think?”
Marcus scoffs good-naturedly.“Come on, he loves women, and he loves flirting.Maybe you’ve noticed?”
“He is awfully devoted to ‘training’ you,” Ariel adds.
“I guess so.”For the past two weeks at Verdant, Jonesy’s been a constant presence at my side, chatting when he has downtime, helping me roll silverware and restock the take-out supplies, and making the day go faster with his jokes and observations and running commentary.Part of me hoped it was because he enjoyed my company, but maybe that’s just what he does when a fresh face joins this little band of Verdant employees.
“Hello?Can we please get a table for three?”
I snap out of my pity party to see three salon-blond women scowling at me with identically crossed arms.Their leader throws a glance at the other two and mutters, “Is it so hard to hire people who actually want to work these days?”
Marcus and Ariel melt away as I make a show of studying the seating map.“Oh gosh,” I say, oozing faux sympathy.“It’s a forty-minute wait for a table.”Just as they start to fuss and fidget, I say, “Maybe you’d be willing to eat at the bar?There’s no wait.”
After a great deal of huffing, they agree to my proposal, and I grab three menus and lead the trio to the bar, going the long way to avoid Rob.Jonesy was spot-on in his assessment during my short orientation.The perpetually greasy busboy keeps trying to smell my hair, and while I want these three sourpusses to have to talk over the margarita machine all through their lunch, I’m not cruel enough to intentionally throw them into Rob’s orbit.
Two hours later, my feet hurt from standing, my cheeks hurt from pretend smiling, and I’m cursing myself for not just living my life on CJ’s couch this month.
“Figured a white-collar criminal like yourself would’ve forgotten how tough these shifts can be.”
Jonesy caught me pushing up on my toes to stretch my tired calf muscles, and I settle back onto my heels with a groan.“I’ve gotten soft.”
His lower lip catches in his teeth as he studies me.“Nothing wrong with soft.”
It’s not personal.He just likes to flirt.Even knowing that I understand why everybody here loses their minds when he tosses them a compliment.That sincere voice and those meltingly dark eyes?Nobody stands a chance.
“Oh hey, I looked up those ads you said you worked on,” he says, leaning against the stand so his shoulder brushes mine.
I can’t help but grin.“Really?”He seriously tracked down the campaign I oversaw for a tiny mail-order ice cream company in Phoenix that went viral on social media?Like, he thought about me in his off hours and Googled until he found the poppy, upbeat videos of ice cream melting away to reveal dreamy watercolors of the pre-melted version in the background?
“It was cool as hell, Fielding,” he says.“The music, the art sneak attack… I was ready to pay twelve bucks for a tiny carton.”
“That was the goal,” I say, unable to keep the satisfaction out of my voice.“I was actually the one who suggested on the day of the shoot that we needed something more interesting in the background than the pink backdrop.The rest is history.”
“Legend!”he says.“So where’d you get the drawings so fast?”
“I did them.”
His mouth widens in delight.“Get out.Really?Youdrew them?Like on set?Triple legend!”
“Thanks, Jonesy.”He’s looking at me like I just admitted to walking on water, and I’m way too thrilled by the admiration on his face.I desperately grope for safer conversational ground and land on the first thing that pops into my head.“Listen, I cannot keep calling you that.What’s your real name?”
He immediately snaps into teasing flirt mode.“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“I would,” I reply tartly.“That’s why I asked.”Not knowing has been killing me, and getting him to share it would feel like a major victory.Like I’m not just the latest in a series of new people he sets out to charm.But he holds the smirk, pressing his lips even more tightly together.
“Fine.Keep your secrets.”I wave my hands in exasperation.“Here’s something you might be able to answer.Darryl’s got the holiday soundtrack from hell playing, but there are zero Christmas decorations up.Why?”
He looks around at the undecorated walls in surprise.
“Huh.I never thought about it one way or another.”
“Ohhhhh.”I drag the word out.“You’re one ofthoseguys.”
“Probably,” he says cheerfully.“Which guys?”
“You know.”I mimic his position and lean an elbow on the hostess stand.“Apartment with bare walls, or if not bare, then some kind of framed sports memorabilia.I’m thinking a Bears jersey, or maybe the Blackhawks.Other than that, one big, ugly couch and a huge TV are the only decor you need, and you’ve definitely never considered bringing any kind of Christmas decorations into your home.”
“Joke’s on you.I own zero sports things.”Even though I’ve insulted his home sight unseen, his eyes dance with laughter.“I do own movie posters though.”
