I tried to sleep after Silvie left, but I couldn’t. I wish I’d gone with her. I wish she’d just stayed. I wish for a lot of things, but that doesn’t mean any of them will happen.
Five minutes later, I hear it. “Hey, kid.”
I look up, and the paparazzi with the tripod is talking to Noah, my seventeen-year-old busboy, who is walking up to the back of the bar.
Noah stops and looks at the guy, confused about who he is. “I’ll give you two hundred bucks if you tell me some information that I need.”
Noah glances at me and back at the guy.
The guy smiles and asks him a few questions. “What time does Silvie get here and leave?”
Noah shakes his head and backs away.
The guy continues as if this is a normal conversation. “Five if you tell me good information.”
That’s when I move and walk straight across the sand and step between them. “You’re done.”
The guy doesn’t back up. “Relax. Just asking questions. Not a crime.”
“You’re harassing a minor,” I add. “And trespassing.”
He shrugs. “Information’s information.”
“You’re trying to buy pieces of my life.”
He laughs under his breath. “You married into headlines, buddy. Comes with the territory.”
I step closer. “Step over that rope and I’ll call the police. Talk to my staff again, and I’ll make sure you’re ruined.”
He studies me for a second, as if gauging whether I’m serious, then backs up. He doesn’t pack up and leave. He just stays within the boundary he knows he can’t cross.
I shake my head and pull Noah inside and get to work.
“Sorry,” he mutters.
“You didn’t do anything wrong, buddy. It’s okay.”
By noon, there are three more SUVs parked along the beach access road, and locals are staring and talking. Tourists are searching for the person they’re stalking. And every time I look over, there’s a lens pointed at me.
One of the regulars claps me on the shoulder. “Must be nice, huh? Marrying into millions. Don’t understand why you’re still working at the bar.”
I shake my head because I know he’s joking. But it still lands wrong.
My shift is almost over when an older guy, maybe fifty, takes a seat at the bar. I note the expensive watch on his wrist and his clothes that look perfect. He’s going bald and I note the thick gold wedding band on his finger. He glances around the bar and his eyes landon me.
Fucking great.
I don’t look up and Marina helps him. He nods in my direction and she braces herself. I ignore him and continue my closing tasks.
He waits, still refusing when Marina offers him a menu. He’s not here to eat and drink. He wants to talk to me.
He scoots down a few stools and says, “Are you Cal?”
I sigh and grit my teeth. Here we go.
He holds up his hands in surrender. “I’m not a reporter. I see you have a lot of those around here.”
I glance over at him. “What do you want?”
