Page 78 of The Fire We Make

“Curtis.”

Joy’s hands stilled for a fraction of a second before she turned to him.

“He got a little out of hand yesterday,” Ace continued.

Joy’s jaw tightened. “It’s fine, I’ve dealt with worse.” Her tone stayed even but those eyes gave her away. For just a moment that heat and fury creeped back in before she tucked them away.

Ace caught it. He’d caught it all.

He had a feeling that something darker lurked beneath the polished surface she offered to the public. He made it his mission to uncover it. He told himself it was for the sake of the business, not needing any mysterious characters lurking—especially during this time of uncertainty. But if he was honest, he’d admit that the darkness he sensed in her called to the darkness in himself. Like a moth, he was drawn to the flame he saw flickering in her eyes.

“Did you deal with people like Curtis often back home?”

Joy narrowed her eyes at him. “Why are you always psychoanalyzing me?”

Ace didn’t hesitate. “You don’t give much away, so I have to dig.”

“Or you could just mind your business.”

A slow smile spread across his face. “I’m tryin’ to make you my business.”

Something in Joy’s expression shifted.

The air between them tightened.

“That’s your problem,” she snapped, pushing off the counter. “You think everything is yours to figure out, to control. I’m not one of your cases and I’m damn sure not something for you to play with when you bored.”

Ace’s brows lifted slightly, but he didn’t move.

“You’re snappy today,” Ace observed. There was no offense or judgement in his words but concern. Joy was usually better at concealing her emotions and today she seemed extra angry. Extra vigilant. Extra on edge.

He didn’t mind it but the last time her mask was so transparent was the night they met and she’d clearly been at a low point then.

Joy sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m just not in the mood today.”

Ace’s eyes darkened. “What’s wrong?” he asked. His hands clenched at the thought of someone harming or bothering her. He’d confirmed his suspicions that she could handle herself but that only made him want to protect her more.

What had she gone through that made her comfortable pistol-whipping a man twice her size?

What in her life had made that skill necessary?

Joy looked at him and he saw the frustration and anguish in her eyes. For a moment, he thought she was going to tell him when Stephanie entered the kitchen.

“Good morning,” she damn near sang.

Joy returned the greeting with a grumble while Ace turned back on his charm to turn to the woman.

“Good morning Stephanie, how are you this morning?” he asked, flashing her one of his disarming smiles.

“I’m doing great,” she beamed. “It’s starting to get warmer, the sun is rising earlier. Spring has sprung.”

Ace kept the smile pasted to his face but saw Joy roll her eyes out of his periphery. He wanted to do the same.

“Mr. King, you always have the most impeccable suits,” she said, running her hand up and down the fabric on his bicep.

Ace could see the fire in Joy’s eyes. Perhaps it made him toxic, but a part of him was thrilled by her jealousy. Add it to the laundry list of his unsavory character traits.

“Thank you Stephanie.”