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Stop thinking about him. He’s not yours.
Devon gave Lilac an assessing look.
At least he’d stopped frowning at her. So that was a bonus.
“Sorry to interrupt. It’s just that, uh, drat, I didn’t catch your name,” Savannah said to her.
“It’s Lilac. Lilac Masters.” It wasn’t her real last name, of course. Opal had gotten them all fake IDs and she’d chosen her last name for her.
“Lilac is looking for a job and we thought you might have one open,” Savannah said.
Lilac glanced over at the other woman, wondering why she was trying to help her. Why she cared. What was her ulterior motive? She had to have one, right?
“Is that so? Well, Lilac, you better come in, then.”
Awesome.
This was such a stupid idea. What if she went in there and this guy hurt her? No one would know she was in there except this woman, who was a stranger.
But she couldn’t back out or she might miss out on a job. So, she shot Savannah a tight smile.
“Thanks for the help.”
The other woman gave her a cheery smile and wave. “No worries. I better get going. Logan will be waiting for me. Bye!”
She followed Devon into the bar. It was quiet and slightly dark. But surprisingly, there was no smell of stale beer. No mustiness. Or body odor.
Whenever she entered a bar, those were the main smells. Sometimes cigarette smoke too.
In fact, there was a pleasant smell of gingerbread. How odd.
“You okay?” Devon asked her as she paused, looking around.
“It doesn’t stink.”
“Uh, thanks.”
She grimaced. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that to sound rude. It’s just that all the bars I’ve worked in have had a definite odor to them even when no one was in them. Maybe especially when no one was in them.”
“Yeah. I have burners with different scents I like to use. Plus, I have a cleaner that comes in early each morning. Come into my office.”
All right.
She followed him out the back into an office, which was the total opposite of the clean and orderly bar.
It was a complete mess with stuff everywhere. Papers and folders covered the desk. There were boxes on the floor and the sofa. Devon moved around behind the desk.
“Have you just bought the place?” she asked.
“Nope. Why?”
“Oh, I thought maybe you were moving in. Moving out?”
“Ah, no. I just . . . haven’t worked out a filing system yet.”
“How long have you owned the place?” she asked, taking a seat.
“Seven years.”
