“Absolutely not,” she refuses, shaking her head.
“Well, I don’t know how to use the till, it’s the boss’s day off, and the server on duty is currently quite busy being flirted with by the cold line cook, so I’m afraid there’s no one here to take your money,” I tell her, shrugging with a hint of a smile.
“I’ll pay for hers,” calls a familiar, high voice from a booth near the front window.
Rory spins gracefully, arms high in the air. “Amelia!” She blows a kiss at her brother-in-law’s woman and mouths to call her later, before she heads through the front door, back to her domain.
My eyes land back on Amelia. Poor girl’s been through a lot lately, and I haven’t seen her since shit went down—mostly getting updates from Weston in the guys’ chat—so I take the chance to check in on her.
Her face lights up as I get closer. “Well, hello, Chef,” she practically purrs.
If I didn’t know Lexi well enough to know she hasn’t confessed to the sins she’s given into with me—she’ll barely admit them to herself—I would almost wonder if this girl’s heard, with that knowing gleam in her eyes.
“Hello, yourself. How ya been?”
Amelia nods, tucking her head into one shrugging shoulder, as a shy smile erupts on her face. “Good, actually. Just did an interview for a job.”
“Oh, I heard about that!” I say, nodding. “Congrats.”
“Thanks. Hey, is Lex around? I wanted to ask her something in person.” Amelia looks around, like she might walk out of the kitchen, face flushed from the way I rile her up every time she comes back there, but no such vision appears to both of our dismay.
“Nah, she’s got the day off.”
“Here she comes!” Amelia chirps, sitting taller, and her eyes trained on the front doors pulls my attention, my stomach rising with hope.
But it’s not Lexi there.
A girl not much taller than Weston’s wifey walks in, though her hair is straight, platinum blonde, and much longer than Amelia’s. Phone extended in front of her like she’s taking a selfie, I don’t get a good look at her face until she changes angles, which is when recognition strikes me.
Of all the gin joints in the world…
“Jynx!” I call to her.
The gorgeous Korean American woman around my age flicks her eyes up to mine and she gasps excitedly.
“Wilder?”
I can feel Amelia’s stare bouncing between us, but I’ll have to explain for a big city, how small of a city NYC really is in just a second.
For now, I have an old regular to sweep into a soul-crushing hug.
Jynx giggles, spinning in my hold, before she brings her phone up to catch us both in the frame. And that’s when I see that she wasn’t taking a selfie.
I’m not exactly a pro with social media. Avoiding it avidly is more my thing. But I’ve seen enough people nearly squashed by cabs and buses in the city to know what live streaming looks like.
My veins flood with ice water, chilling over as I’m outed publicly, thrust onto camera.
The Stay Safe From Your Mob Connections checklist was so close to being perfect.
Pick somewhere in the middle of nowhere.Check.
Get a new phone and number.Check.
Avoid all social media.Check.
Don’t get caught in the livestream of an internet celebrity.Nope.
So close, Amante.
