And Anton—oh, Anton—his green eyes snap to my hand like a loaded gun.
I canfeelit: that sharp, territorial flare he doesn’t voice but doesn’t bother to hide either.
Before he can decide whether or not to slice Jasper’s fingers off one by one, I yank my hand back so fast I nearly fling it into my water glass. Then I launch myself out of the booth in the world’s least graceful dramatic exit.
“This—” My voice cracks like I’m in a bad soap opera. I clear my throat and gesture wildly between them. “This is Jasper. Mybest friend.Since seventh grade. He’s harmless. Harmless! Unless you’re a karaoke machine, then you’re doomed, but otherwise—totally safe.”
Jasper blinks at me, offended. “Excuse you! Islaykaraoke. I have witnesses.”
“See?” I squeak, nodding way too hard. “Slays karaoke,notpeople. Big difference.”
Lev is openly grinning now, like he’s front row at a circus. Boris raises one brow but keeps eating his pancake. Dima… Well, Dima just looks like he’s weighing the odds of killing Jasper quickly versus efficiently.
Anton doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just watches me with that steady, cutting focus that says I am one bad sentence away from regret.
I plaster on a manic smile, still standing, still blocking Jasper with my entire body like a very small, very underqualified human shield.
“Mybest friend,” I repeat for emphasis, eyes darting between all of them. “Jasper Saint James. Totally not a threat. Totally not a problem. Totally not, you know, someone whose hand you need to… um… detach from his arm.”
Jasper tilts his head at me, smirking. “Darling, are you… introducing me, or auditioning for witness protection?”
Before I can answer, he nudges me aside and thrusts out a perfectly manicured hand.
“I’m Jasper Saint James,” he announces. “Best friend, emergency contact, and the one who’s been cleaning up Mary’s disasters since seventh grade. Nobody loves her more, nobody gets to hurt her, and if you try,” he flashes a smile sharp enough to sting, “you’ll have to deal with me first.”
Boris takes his hand on instinct. “Boris,” he says. A beat. Then, deadpan: “Noted.”
Lev wheezes into his napkin.
Jasper slides right in beside Boris like he owns the booth and the deed. He gestures at the pancake. “Are we sharing? I don’t do carbs before Milan, but it’s a Vegas emergency.”
“You were in Milan,” I remind him, like that explains anything about why he’s here now, at my table, in my crisis. I take a seat, returning to my breakfast.
“Was,” he says, eyes flicking like he’s speed-scanning my entire personal nightmare. “Am now here. Back in town. Long story. Also,” Jasper leans across the table and points a dramatic finger at me, “I can hear your heartbeat from space, buttercup. What did you do?”
My fork freezes mid-air. “What… what do you mean?”
Jasper heaves the world’s most theatrical sigh, grabs Lev’s coffee without asking, takes a swig, and winces. “Jesus. That’s battery acid. Do you not love yourself?” He sets it back in front of Lev like he just took a bullet for him. Then he pins me with those eyes, the ones that can read my soul like a CVS receipt.
The unspoken exchange between us goes something like: Me:Shut up, you’re embarrassing me.Him:You’re lying through your Brunello Cucinelli blazerMe:They’re customers.Him:Customers who look like they bury other customers.
I force my lips into a smile that feels like dental surgery. “They’re… my customers.”
Jasper’s eyebrow arches so high it’s about to touch the ceiling fan.
“Customers.Really.” His gaze sweeps over Anton, who’s dressed in black like death personified. Then Boris, who looks like a Slavic bear in a zip-up. Then Dima, who literally looks like he murdered someone before breakfast. Finally, Lev, still smirking through syrup.
“Darling,” Jasper purrs. “If these are yourcustomers,then I’m a Victoria’s Secret Angel.”
“You could be,” Lev says, grinning. “We’d give you wings.”
“See? He gets it,” Jasper fires back, finger guns at Lev. “I like him. He’s hired.”
Anton finally moves. Just his jaw tightening, but I catch it. He doesnotlike Jasper cozying up to the table, does not like the easy banter, does not like the way Jasper kisses me on the cheek like he owns me.
And weirdly? That little jealous spark in his eyes? Yeah, I feel it. And yeah, I’m not hating it.
I laugh again, too high-pitched. “Nothing. Just… breakfast. Pancakes. Syrup.” I shove my plate forward like carbs can cover secrets. “And I’m late for work, so, um—everybody up. Out. Shoo.”
