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Several of the patrons started to titter, and I realized that some were recording. Zander had been right about that, too. I was going to end up on social media.
Sandra is going to freak out when she sees this. I better tone it down.
“Sir, please,” I tried again, backpedaling my initial sass. “Can you please take your grievances outside—”
“Fuck you, you dumb bitch!”
Suddenly, all three of the Silverpiece men were on their feet, and someone threw a punch. Blood spurted over the table as Richard fell back, gasping, and Lincoln pounced, grabbing the man by the scruff of the neck, hauling him toward the door as I gawked after them, my pulse finally roaring in my ears. I hadn’t seen that coming.
“Are you okay?” the blond asked, reclaiming his seat as if nothing had happened. He eyed me through his peripheral vision, but I caught a hint of concern in his tone.
“I… yeah…” I mumbled, unsure of what else to say.
I wasn’t hurt, but this was humiliating. Zander rushed out from behind the counter, followed by Drew, but the black-haired man stopped both the workers.
“Hang on a minute,” he ordered them. “I want a minute with Mylee.”
“Uh… sure, Mr. Webb,” the manager said, keeping his distance as he looked at me. “Mylee, are you okay?”
I glared at him. “Yeah. Great. Thanks.”
No thanks to you, jerk. Great managing, Drew.
“I’m going to call Sandra,” Drew mumbled, backing away.
Zander remained between me and the counter, but Mr. Webb glowered at him until he, too, withdrew, leaving me standing helplessly at the table, unsure of what to do.
Mr. Webb flexed his hand, checking it for damage, and sat down finally, reaching for his coffee. The skin on his hand wasn’t broken, despite the amount of blood that had poured from Richard’s nose.
I wondered why Mr. Webb reacted so strongly. I didn’t pretend to be flattered. It couldn’t have had anything to do with me. It had just been a testosterone battle that I’d wandered into unsuspectingly.
Clearing my throat, I eyed the men, folding my arms across my chest. “I should probably—” I started to say, but the door opened, and Lincoln strode back in, appearing as nonchalant as his companions. The words died on my lips.
“I highly recommend that everyone erase any video taken of that incident,” Lincoln called out pleasantly to no one in particular. “I wouldn’t want to track down anyone who posted it online.”
He winked vaguely at the patrons, and immediately, I watched as people scrambled to scroll through their phones, presumably adhering to his instructions.
Wow. Imagine having that kind of power. I wasn’t sure if I was disgusted or impressed. Probably a combination of the two.
“Well,” I muttered, turning away to gesture at the mess the brawl had left behind. “I should clean that up.”
Lincoln took his seat and crossed an ankle over his knee, glancing at Mr. Webb, who met his gaze with steely blue eyes. They seemed to have an unspoken communication as I turned around.
“Mylee, right?” Lincoln called out to me.
I stopped and looked back, nodding. “That’s right.”
“Mylee what?”
Lincoln’s sudden interest in me took me aback, but I didn’t want to be rude, even though I could see the orders piling up at the machine through my peripheral vision. It was going to be a pain in the ass to catch up if I didn’t get back soon.
“Mylee Lynn.”
He nodded, showing those beautiful teeth again.
“I’m Lincoln.” He extended a hand toward me, and I accepted it briefly, turning to his counterparts, who made no effort to introduce themselves, and Lincoln did not bother, either.
“I’m sorry about that,” he said. “Richard deserved more than a punch to the face for what he said to you.”
