“I meant Brighton,” Stone bit out. “Working the bar. Her ankle is injured. She should be resting.”
“She promised she would be okay.”
“Maybe for a while, but she’s been there hours.” Should he intervene? Even as he thought to close the coffee bar early, more customers wandered toward it. Teeth grinding, Stone remained at the front desk to monitor what was happening in the coffee bar.
Inspector Pellet seemed to have grown roots around that chair where she sat chatting up Brighton well into the afternoon. Her ankle had to be aching by now. “I should close it.” He had to admit, Brighton was a natural with customers, talking with ease and familiarity.
Rowe had grinned at her like a lost puppy.
Didn’t like the way the guy had been looking at her, like he’d seen his first 1964½ Mustang. Too much interest. Too cozy. Entirely too cozy.
But she didn’t seem to mind. She’d laughed with him, all ease and casualness. Was that the type of guy she was into? That was, when she wasn’t being paid to ruin them.
“Definitely should close it soon.”
Oscar opened his mouth, then suddenly closed it.
“You disagree.”
“We have some great reviews about the café already, even though it’s new.”
“Reviews.”
“Ratings?—you know, on Google.” He gave a shaky smile. “It’ll bring in more business.”
A two-edged sword now. Financially, he needed the business. But the more people visiting, the more risk he’d be exposed. Would the Mulroney surname keep him hidden well enough?
And Brighton … he hadn’t exactly treated her nicely since her arrival. Would that be his undoing? Would she spill her guts to this inspector and ruin yet another of his careers? She hadn’t seemed the vindictive type, but with Pellet looking to expose the debauchery she believed him guilty of …
He couldn’t watch anymore. “I’m going to my office. Shut down the café at four.”
Oscar nodded, but his eyes were large.
“The reviews can wait. At least until she’s gone.”
“Pellet or Brighton?”
“Both,” he grunted.
“But … the inspector said she was looking forward a latte each morning.”
He wanted to curse. Running a hand over his beard, he swore he was going to kill Cord for this. “Send Brighton to me when she’s done.”
“Will do.”
“Wait.” Stone didn’t trust himself alone with her. “On second thought, just ask her if she can work tomorrow. I’ll pay her. Time and a half.”
“For that, I’ll work the bar.”
“If I thought you could do that without burning down the place, I’d let you.”
Laughing, Oscar nodded. “Fair.”
Stone started to leave, then hesitated. “By the way, next time you decide to help me out?—ask first.”
“Understood. I just wanted to look out for you?—and in doing so, my job.”
Stone smirked. “I hear you.” Heading to his office, he eyed the café, the inspector, and the woman moving around that espresso bar as if she owned it, belonged there?—like she did in his thoughts.
