“And then there’s the safety issue. Do you know kidsjumpoff that bridge? Someone’s gonna die.”
If that were true, someone would be dead by now. “Kids have jumped off that bridge for decades,” she said. “No one has ever died.”
“No one has ever diedyet.” He knocked back the rest of his drink. “I’m doing someone a favor. And…” He called the bartender with a finger flick, then pointed to the bar. “Two more, please.”
“No, no, I?—”
“Vivien.” He put a light hand on her arm. “Relax.”
She eased her arm from his touch, deciding to try another tactic. “I’ve read a few of the older editorials in the paper when the city announced it was coming down. Not everyone is happy.”
“Not everyone is ever happy,” he countered, then drew back, eyeing her. “Change always upsets people.”
“Sometimes it’s worth upsetting them,” she said. “Sometimes it isn’t.”
He leaned his elbow on the bar, closer now. “That bridge is a lawsuit waiting to happen. Can we talk about the color of your eyes? Not quite brown, not quite gold. They are the color of…”
“Rust,” she joked, inching back from the scrutiny.
“My favorite color, but no, they’re more…” He closed a little space between them. “Fiery. Are you fiery, Vivien? I like fiery women.”
Sliding her stool back, she managed a humorless smile. “Well, I like beautiful memories and historical landmarks and celebrating legacies, so…”
“Viv!” A man’s voice broke through the bar noise, almost immediately accompanied by a hand on her shoulder. A familiar, strong, and unbelievably welcome hand that she only had to touch to feel comfortable again.
“Peter.” She smiled up at him with a rush of relief and gratitude. “You made it.”
He answered with a light kiss on her hair. Sliding a protective arm around her, he glanced at the man. “’Scuze me, sir. I believe that’s my seat.”
Suddenly, all the bravado disappeared from old Quinn Hargrove. His pudgy jowls sagged, his barrel chest deflated, and his smile vanished.
“’Course. Nice chatting with you, Vivien.” He stood up and took a step back, giving her one more look. “There’s nothing wrong with making a little money off cleaning up the place.”
Vivien opened her mouth, but Peter stepped between her and the man, taking his seat.
“Have a nice evening, sir,” he said, spinning Vivien’s stool to face him.
She drank in the sight of him, a little breathless and so, so happy to see him.
Vivien knew almost instantlythat something was wrong with Peter. He turned down a drink, looked around like a trapped animal, and let out a shuddering sigh.
“You okay?”
“Now that I don’t have to kill that guy breathing down your…front? Yeah.” He grinned, but it didn’t quite reach his brown eyes. “Sounds like you found your guy and he struck out.”
“I struck out, too,” she admitted. “But you have the best timing of any man alive.”
He gave her a half-smile. “Looked like you needed a rescue.”
She didn’t think of herself as a woman who needed saving, but if anyone was going to do that, she wanted it to be Peter.
“He walked away from me, but”—she lifted a shoulder—“I don’t think he’s walking away from the bridge demo that is going to make him even…”
“Fatter.”
She snorted. “I was going to say richer.”
His gaze flicked toward the far end of the bar, where Quinn had reclaimed his stool and his bravado. “I looked up some stuff about him while I was in the waiting room with Connor.”
