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“You’re about to be six feet under if you don’t knock it off.” Row’s lips barely moved, and my muscles immediately uncurled and relaxed. One thing hadn’t changed—he was still protective of me because I was an extension of Dylan. Growing up, Row was always one phone call away if I needed a ride home, even if he spent the entire drive ignoring me.
“My interest in Cal is purely professional,” Rhyland drawled, and he wasn’t only good-looking—he was good everything. He had that aura that made him look famous somehow. People gravitated toward him, like planets circling the sun. “No offense, but I like ’em with a bit more meat and edge. You look like an infant saint in a medieval painting.”
“A cherub,” I burst happily. “That’s the best compliment.”
“It’s an insult he’ll pay for,” Row countered. “And it’s not happening.”
“Get your head outta your ass. She has experience.” Rhyland threw a hand in the air, losing patience. “We can’t afford to pass that up.”
“Besides, she is the only person who would agree to work for you.” Dylan laughed evilly. “You’re dead to everyone else in this town, and I’m too pregnant to pull doubles like yesteryear.”
Why was Dylan vouching for me? Did that mean our beef was officially squashed? Or was working for her brother her idea of a cruel punishment for me?
“He isn’t dead to people here, but they’re sure about to kill him,” Rhyland corrected with a smug smile. “This reminds me—Row, you do have life insurance, right?”
Row opened his mouth, no doubt to give him one final warning before he broke his nose, when the door whined open.
“What’s going on here? What’s the commotion?” Zeta stuck her head in the door, scanning the four of us. Dylan sat dutifully on her bed, looking like a birthday cake had exploded on her. I was by her side, Rhyland was standing next to us, and Row was on the other side of the room, looking fifty shades of pissed off.
“Row is two servers short, and Cal just offered to fill in. She has experience.” Dylan threw out her hands in a can-you-believe-it gesture. “Talk some sense into your son, Mamma.”
“You’d be crazy not to hire her.” Zeta tutted, palming her cheek worriedly. “No one else would work for you in this county.”
“I think you missed the R in country.” Rhyland took out a small tin box from his pocket, rolling himself a joint.
Whoa. What had Row done, and why wasn’t he in jail for it?
“In less than two months, the restaurant will be permanently closed. Cal is probably looking for long-term.” Row’s jaw ticked in annoyance.
“Two months from now, I’ll be leaving. I’m flying back to New York January first, so actually, this is perfect,” I countered.
“Of course, you are.” He scrubbed his face, muttering, “Shit.”
“What now?” I sighed. Was there anything I did that he didn’t find appalling?
“I’m flying to London the same day,” he explained.
“Why, what a coincidence!” Rhyland looked between us, amusement adorning his sculpted face. “You can share an Uber to the airport. In the meantime, you have less than eight weeks to suffer one another. Doable, right?”
“Wrong,” Row said at the same time I exclaimed, “Easy peasy!”
Seriously, what was his deal?
“What happened to your faces and hair, girls?” Zeta took us in for the first time, her grip on the doorknob loosening.
“Cupcake fight.” Dylan pretended to flex her biceps, kissing her nonexistent guns. “I won.”
Zeta’s eyes landed on my face. “I see you played dirty and aimed for the eyes.”
Dylan laced her fingers under her chin and blinked innocently. “What can I say? I fight like a girl, which means I always win.”
Something amazing happened after Dylan said that. Zeta’s features softened for the first time since I’d known her.
“You’re smiling again.” Zeta’s eyes glittered, her attention fixed on her daughter. “Look at you. You’re…you’re…happy.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Mom.” Dylan wiped the smile off her face instantly, shooting me an embarrassed look. “Even if I were, it’s not because of Cal.”
“Apropos, Cal—you’re hired as a waitress at Descartes,” Rhyland announced dryly, pulling out his phone and tossing it into my hands. He tucked his joint behind his ear. “Program your number and email in, and we’ll hammer out the small print. Congrats, kiddo.”
