Page 12 of Bottles & Blades

“Jean-Michel,” she amends, green eyes dancing. “So…the girl?”

“That’s not a question.”

“It’s phrased as one.” Then she huffs out an aggrieved sigh and amends when I just lift my brow at her instead of answering, “Who was the woman you brought in earlier?”

“And who doyouthink you are,” I reply, “to ask personal questions of me?”

She smiles, triumph in those eyes, not cowed in the least. “One, thanks for confirming it’s personal. Two, what happened to this office being a place where we don’t stand on formalities?”

“One, I didn’t confirm it was personal,” I counter, even though I totally fucking did. “Two, that’s when it comes to work conversations and decisions.”

“And us having a conversation about my asshole of an ex is somehow work-related?”

Just thinking about that prick has my temper spiking. But I just grind my teeth together, ignore that point as well. “Three, I didn’t say it wasn’t a place for discussions aboutyourpersonal life.” Just mine.

“Ah, there it is.”

I frown. “Therewhatis?”

“Jean-Michel Dubois’s hidden fairy godfather streak.” She shakes her head but goes on before I can rebut that statement. “I just have one question.”

“Marie,” I warn, sharing before she can make this something it’s not. “The woman is a stranger. I lost my phone and wallet dealing with that shit show at Oak Ridge, and I didn’t know until stopped to grab something to eat and went to pay.”

Her brows drag together.

“She paid for my lunch.”

Those brows shoot up.

“So, I was just making sure I paid her back.”

Marie’s eyes narrow, no doubt deducing there’s more to the story than I’m sharing. “If that’s the case then why didn’t you just have me bring cash down?”

I know she’ll read far too much into this but fuck it. I’m ready for this conversation to be over, and I hired Marie because she’s smart, tough, and a dog to a bone when it comes to getting what she wants.

There’s no point in drawing this out.

Something about Tiff has activated my—Christ, even thinking the words make me feel like a total douchebag—fairy godfather skills.

But Tiff…she’s vulnerable. She needs something she doesn’t have. Needs someone to look after her. I don’t know that…but I fuckingknowthat. I heard it when she put groceries back. I felt it when I spotted the shadows clinging to the edges of her smile, her pretty brown eyes.

So, I’m going to give it to her.

“Cash isn’t trackable,” I mutter.

Marie frowns. “And a check is?”

“It is for me.”

Five

Tiff

I’m just gettingout of the shower when there’s a knock on the door.

I freeze.

It’s late.

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