“It means I’m checking invoices,” I say, still not looking up. “And if you skimmed from the drawer again, I’m taking it out of your cut.”
He places a hand over his heart. “Molly, I would never.”
I lift my eyes slowly.
He swallows. “Okay. Imight. But only for noble reasons. Like buying fireworks.”
“Out,” I say, pointing toward the far end of the bar.
Mayhem grins and doesn’t move. “You’re in a mood.”
“I’m in aproductivemood.” I tap the ledger. “Unlike you.”
Mayhem leans forward, voice dropping as if he has a secret. “So, who’s got you all… twitchy?”
My pen freezes. I keep my expression flat. “No one.”
He hums. “Sure.”
I flick my gaze to the mirror behind the bar. The room is full—patches, ol’ ladies, locals—but it feels like there’s a blank space shaped exactly like Evan Wilder. Which is insane because he shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be anywhere near my work. That was the whole point of the rule. The rule that I asked for, and that, somehow, just half-a-freaking-day later, I’m already second-guessing.
What the hell is that man doing to me?
My phone buzzes loudly in my apron pocket.
I ignore it.
A second buzz.
I pretend I don’t feel it.
Mayhem’s grin widens, feral. “Someone’s popular.”
“I’m busy,” I snap.
“Uh-huh.”
I reach into my pocket and yank the phone out as if it offended me. One glance at the screen and my pulse trips.
Evan.
No message preview yet, just his name sitting there, taunting me. I lock my jaw and shove the phone back into my pocket without opening it.
Mayhem’s eyes go huge. “Oh. OH.”
I point at him again. “If you say one word, I will put you in the freezer.”
“Can I at least guess?” he whispers, gleeful.
“No.”
He leans closer anyway, and I wonder if he’s ever heard of the concept of personal space. “Is he tall? Like… annoyingly tall?”
“Go away.”
“And does he have, like, ‘normal-guy’ vibes but also you want to bite him?”
I slam the ledger shut. “Mayhem.”
