Page 51 of Keller

He doesn't put up a protest, which I secretly find confident and sexy. He orders for both of us. Orange, ginger, turmeric for me, and a pomegranate mint for himself. The cups sweat in our hands before we even sit down.

"I actually looked this place up while you were ordering. Sounds like I have been missing out. This place is all the rage."

"I would never lead you astray. Stick with me, kid." He settles into the metal chair across from me, and his easy smile nearly undoes me.

"Quality control." I take a sip. The tumeric is bright and bold. "I like to know what I'm getting myself into."

"You realize that makes you sound like a skeptic."

"I don't deny that it is one of my personality faults. Comes with the job, I suppose. Check everything, and then check again."

His mouth twitches. "Are you auditing me, Ms. Mercer?"

"An auditor never stops auditing."

He smiles, and a small, bright, red drink mustache sits on one corner of his mouth. I want to reach over and wipe it for him.A delivery truck double-parks across the street just before the door slams, and it makes me jump. I follow his line of sight to see the driver hauling boxes into a store while cars edge around him.

"You pretend not to care what people think." I set my cup down on the small round table. Condensation pools beneath it. "But I can tell you're always observing."

He tilts his head, considering. "Observation isn't the same as caring."

"Isn't it?"

"I notice patterns. It's useful information." He adjusts his glasses, pushing them higher on his nose. The gesture is small, almost unconscious.

"For instance, you don't like pulp, right?" He nods toward my cup. "You mentioned that at the gala. Something about texture."

My stomach flips. He remembered. A throwaway comment from a bar conversation the night we met, and he remembered.

"Good memory."

"Selective memory." His dark eyes hold mine. "Some things are worth remembering."

The compliment lands without weight. He doesn't linger on it or watch for my reaction. He just states it and moves on, sipping his juice.

A woman walks by with a small dog on a leash. The dog strains toward our table, nose twitching at something he's picked up near us that he likes. She tugs him away with an apologetic smile.

"I have a meeting in an hour." Keller checks his watch. "I should head back soon, as much as I'd rather hang out with you."

"You work weekends?"

"I'm always working," he says matter-of-factly without complaint. "The tables don't run themselves, and the players don't keep banker's hours."

"Can I see you tomorrow?"

The question catches me off guard. There's no preamble or elaborate setup. As much as I tell myself we should keep our distance, I realize I like spending time with him, and I want to see him again.

I take another sip of my juice to buy time. The cold spreads through my chest.

"There's actually a movie I've been wanting to see." The words come out before I can stop them. "The Housemaid, the one with Amanda Seyfried and Sydney Sweeney. Have you heard of it? It's playing at the Prytania."

His eyebrows rise slightly. "Is that a chick flick? I'm not up on the latest movies, I have to admit."

"No, definitely not a chick flick. It’s a psychological thriller." I brace for the skepticism. The dismissal that usually comes when I mention my taste in films. "I read the book last year, and now I have to see the movie. I think you'll like it, if it's anything like the book."

"Well, you sold me. I'd love to. Should we check times?"

I blink. "You're an easy sell. I've already looked because I was thinking about going by myself. Can you do four tomorrow?"