“I’m waiting for someone. My right-hand gal’s boyfriend is supposed to be coming to talk to me about a security system. We got robbed last night.”
Lifting an eyebrow, I shake my head. She’s far too perky for this early in the morning. And for getting robbed last night. Normal people would be upset. They’d be suspicious of men wholook like me walking in the door. Hell, they’dlockthe fucking door.
“Scotty, uh, asked for the morning off. You got me instead.”
“Oh, you work for Scotty? He’s a good kid. Donut?”
Why the hell does it feel like she’s trying to shove food down my throat? “No, and Scotty works for me. What happened last night?”
“You own Eagle Eye Security? Scotty talks very highly about his boss. I’m Phoebe. Phoebe Phelps.”
There’s no fucking way that’s her real name.
She holds out a small hand over the counter between us, and I’m taken aback for a moment. Such a small hand for a girl as tall as she is, and I shake my head. I don’t really do physical contact.
Unless I’m hitting someone. That’s something I don’t mind. Might even say I enjoy it.
“They call me Pacino.”
“Pacino?”
God, I hate it when people don’t get the reference. It’s like laughing at your own joke because no one else understands. And it’s basically the same as turning on a fucking flashing neon sign above me with an arrow pointing to the part of me everyone gawks at anyway. It’s like having to relive the worst part of my life all over again.
“You know… Al Pacino? The actor?”
Phoebe’s hazel eyes shine. “Is your name Al?”
How the fuck do I respond to that? I almost just turn and walk away. This chick is bananas.
“No, he starred in a movie calledScarface. And…” I point at the large, unmistakable scar on my left cheek and shrug.
Her pretty eyes widen, and the shine disappears. Her mouth forms a horrified O shape. “That’s horrible! What’s your real name?”
Oh, fuck me. And fuck Scotty for making me deal with her. She’s the type of woman who gets returned by kidnappers because she’s annoying as hell. Duct tape wouldn’t do a lot of good with her.
“Tucker Vega, but I go by Pacino. It’s my road name. See the leather?” I ask and point at my chest because I’m not convinced she’s all there upstairs.
“I’ll call you Tucker. Or would you prefer Tuck?”
“I’d prefer you call me Pacino.”
She shakes her head and moves around the counter with a donut to sit at a table beside me. “No, sir. That’s cruel. No, sit and eat.”
Yep, this woman is batshit crazy. Off her fucking rocker. And I doubt she’s going to let me leave this bakery without one of these donuts making it into my mouth. If I don’t eat it voluntarily, she might just shove it down my damn throat.
“Tell me what happened,” I say, taking an angry bite.
The donut just melts in my mouth, and I damn near moan. This is the best donut I’ve ever eaten, and my annoyance lessens a fraction. Woman can bake.
“Let me get you some coffee,” she says, hopping up and walking behind the counter to pour a cup.
It gives me a chance to examine her, and while I don’t have relations with anyone other than Queenie, I can appreciate a nice form. And she’s fucking gorgeous.
Lean with a cute ass. Her heart-shaped face has a smattering of freckles along her nose, and she’s the type of pretty that’sunderstated. The kind that doesn’t need makeup, but if she wears it, she will stun anyone and everyone around her.
The type of pretty many women hate.
She’s also the skinniest baker I’ve ever met in my life. No one this skinny should make donuts this good.
