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Brittney had a table reserved downstairs, but “Mrs. Monroe hasn’t arrived yet.” The hostess, in a black blouse and matching pencil skirt that skimmed her knees, offered to escort me, but I preferred to wait at the bar—a large raised platform in the center of the joint. The wood was sleek and polished; spotless wine, martini, and cocktail glasses in an assortment of sizes hung upside down from racks. Two bartenders—one male, one female, each wearing black slacks and black T-shirts with the gold Beverly’s logo—moved smoothly as they prepared drinks. One barkeep immediately came over and asked what I wanted.
I’d never acquired the taste for whiskey or vodka or even wine. But beer? Loved it. Especially microbrews. Beverly’s had one of my favorite local breweries featured, so I ordered the Church Music IPA. I’d expense the drink, plus a very nice tip. I’d been a bartender for nearly two years after I left the Army while building my PI business. It could be a great job, but you also dealt with a lot of shitheads, so tipping well was a must in my book. It would take a majorly rude server and multiple mistakes to get zip from me.
I paid for my beer and kept an eye out for Brittney, while also being an observant detective and checking out my surroundings. If there weren’t so many people trying hard to be noticed, I might have enjoyed the atmosphere. Maybe I’d come back on a slower night. Early in the evening, middle of the week.
I did a double-take when I saw my brother Nico and his boyfriend, FBI Agent Quincy Truman, walk into the bar. They looked around and Nico waved to a small group in one corner. Quincy saw me before my brother did.
I’d love to have a beer with Nico; unfortunately, I detested Quincy. There were many reasons for my distaste, but primarily he was an arrogant, mightier-than-thou, authoritarian federal prick.
To be fair, Quincy wasn’t a jerk to Nico. Otherwise, I would have been far more vocal in my dislike of the man.
Quincy whispered something to Nico, who turned and saw me at the bar. He lit up and I smiled. Nico was like that—he always made me smile. The family mediator, the glue that kept us from taking swipes at each other when we were forced together over the last three years.
Quincy went over to the group they clearly knew, but Nico came to me, arms outstretched for a hug. “I wouldn’t expect to see you here,” he said. “I love this place, but it doesn’t seem to be your vibe. Too crowded, too expensive.”
Nico knew me well. “Meeting a client. And I’ve been here a couple of times.”
“Voluntarily?”
I laughed. “Hardly. It’s not a bad place. Just too many pretty people who spend more time documenting their drinks and eats with their phones than enjoying the company.”
Nico slowly surveyed the room, nodded his agreement. “You want to join us?” He motioned to the table of his friends. “It’s not going to be a late night. Work tomorrow. But Quincy has had a rough week and needed to get out for some fun. And you’d like these people, I promise.”
“Probably.”
I didn’t want to know about Quincy’s rough week, so I didn’t ask.
“You canceled dinner with us twice.”
“Don’t start.”
“I know you guys got off on the wrong foot, but—”
I cut him off. “He expects me to apologize for doing my job. Never. And I know he’s not going to apologize for doing his—even when he tried to have me arrested for no valid reason. Just look at him over there—glaring at me.”
“He’s not,” Nico said, but I caught him glancing to make sure. Quincy was watching us. Maybe not glaring, but I could read between the eyes.
“Thanks, by the way,” I changed the subject.
“For?”
“Bringing on Theo as an intern this summer.”
“No need to thank me. It’s part of the program.”
“Yeah, but I know most interns don’t get to choose which department they work in. I’m glad he’s learning from you.”
“You’ve done a great job with him. He’s kept his nose clean for two years, taking the right classes, putting in time and effort. He’s a smart kid.”
“A smart ass,” I muttered.
Nico laughed. “So are you, sis. Now, about dinner—”
“Quincy is about to come over and rescue you, and I’m not in the mood to be nice, so go.”
“Margo—”
“I’ll be at Pop and Abuela’s party next weekend, on my best behavior, okay? And as long as you’re happy with the arrogant fed, I’ll bite my tongue until it bleeds.”
