Page 7 of Well Bred


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“Understandable.”

“I thought he was a friend, you know?”

“Addiction changes people.”

She nods. “Listen, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“But, I didn’t ask you to stay late.”

“I know.” I watch her, waiting for her eyes to meet mine again, for that little zap I get every time.

“I didn’t budget for?—”

“Clocked out ages ago.”

“Well, I can’t let you work and not?—”

“You know I don’t need the job.”

“Yeah.”

“Any luck finding someone?”

“No.” Her shoulders drop under what seems to be a whole lot of pressure. “I don’t get it.”

“Small town,” I say.

“I guess that must be it. Because who wouldn’t want to work here, right?”

She holds her arms out as if to show off the space. And it’s nice. A lot of old, glossy wood, warm lights set to low, the kind of cocktails you couldn’t get when I was a kid. Full of smoke and umami and some shit called shrub. It suits her, though, in an old-timey way. A sort of ageless feel that goes with thosebombshell dresses she wears and the bright colored hair. She’s somehow classy and sexy and deep all at once. “You tell Frank I’m struggling?”

“Course not.”

She searches my face for a second and, apparently satisfied, says, “Thanks.”

“Sure.” I spin my glass, enjoying the sweet smoke smell without tasting it yet. Enjoying the weight of her full attention. “It’s the truth.”

Her quiet “Yeah,” is doubtful, her narrowed gaze fixed on me. “So, whoareyou? Who is Jake Brand? You met Frank in prison? What were you in for?”

“You haven’t looked it up?”

She shakes her head. “Not my business.”

“And yet you’re asking.”

“Forget it.” She nudges my drink toward me, the message loud and clear. Drink and get out.

Rather than tower over her, I finally sit on the stool and take a sip. “Maker’s.” I flash her a surprised look. “Top shelf.”

“Not quite.” Her smile is apologetic. “Sorry.”

“Better than rail.”

“You know what? You’re right. Hang on.” She’s shaking her head when she reaches for my glass. “Ishouldhave poured you the good stuff after what you did back there. It’s the least I can do.”

“It’s fine,” I finally tell her. “I like Maker’s.”