Page 43 of Trickster King

I pointed at the door. “He is cajoling the restaurant into allowing us jerks into the place so Eddie can have his dream meal. We need to make sure we take him to a steak and seafood restaurant every few months as a special treat. I’m not sure if it was the steak or the seafood that got to him, but it was clear what he wanted.”

“Are we going to be experiencing any meltdowns tonight over having disrupted the restaurant?”

“I asked Randy to ask if it would be better if we came closer to closing,” I replied.

The first time I’d been the reason a restaurant had closed down for part of the day, it had taken Jessica over an hour to calm me down. While her adventure into where I worked had turned out to be one of the best moments of my life, I also remembered the chaos, the anxiety, and the consequences of their unexpected visit.

My inability to make certain the restaurant wouldn’t suffer because of our presence had done the most damage. For the most part, I managed to go out without melting down, although I made certain to do my best to keep the restaurant on track for its earnings.

“I would like to remind you we have an entire herd of RPS agents loitering around. They all require dinner. The restaurant will be fine,” Geoff stated.

I recognized his tone as the one he used when he worried he might be the poor bastard stuck with me and my anxiety-based tendencies. “I had forgotten how many of us are here,” I conceded. “And I can foot the bill for it thanks to Twilight Rose, so make sure everyone knows they’re to attack my wallet like they mean it. They can fight over the drinking restrictions for on-duty agents, but they have to do so quietly and in a way that doesn’t alarm Eddie.”

Geoff shook his head, chuckled, but got out his phone and tapped at the device. “I’ll have them draw straws, and we’ll keep four sober while the rest get in some quality drinking with the caveat we can’t have any uncomfortable conversations with Eddie in the morning. That’ll keep everyone mostly sober but willing to have a beer or two with dinner or a shot of something. Your limit is one and only one beer.”

While the king, I’d learned the RPS ruled, and when it came to the alcohol consumption of the royal family, they did so with an iron fist. I assumed the medications were the excuse they used to make certain I was limited to no more than a drink.

Apparently, the RPS in Texas worked hard to make sure none of the monarchs developed alcoholism. As long as they didn’t stop me from cooking with wine and stealing a sip here and there, I didn’t mind the restrictions.

The last thing I needed was to come down with alcoholism to go along with my severe case of Royal.

Randy came back into the room, caught sight of me, and chuckled. “Are you already fretting about the restaurant?”

“Yep,” I answered, as there was no point in hiding the truth. I nodded in the direction of the bathroom. “My goal is to get through this with Eddie thinking the only problem is my general addiction to cooking for my friends and family.”

“If you manage that, I’ll tell your wife,” Randy replied.

I snickered as Jessica wanted me to be able to go out and experience restaurants like a regular Texan. “How do you think she’ll reward me for working a miracle?”

“Ideally, she won’t try to kill you for the rest of the stunt you’re pulling.”

He made an excellent point. “When you phrase it that way, I think I will try to act like I might actually be a Royal and I deserve a night out at a restaurant. It’s like a work event.”

“With the number of agents having dinner, the restaurant will not suffer in the slightest,” Randy informed me. “If anything, they’ll have high profits this evening. This is a smaller area, and we’re after their prime dining time. It being a weekday helps with that. We’ll try to remind you.” Randy checked his watch. “I told the restaurant we’d be there in an hour; they have no reservations then, and they’re aware of how many are in our group. I assumed you would not want the extra tables to be closed down so they’re making sure the leftovers are near the door to mitigate any risk.”

“And I’ll be in the back?” I guessed.

“You can sit wherever you want, Pat. The odds of an incident out here in the middle of nowhere is slim. Hell, most of the people here aren’t going to be able to figure out which one of us is you; we’re all dressed alike.”

“My face is on the money, Randy,” I complained. “Jessica made them put me on a damned bill. She said if she had to suffer so did I.”

Both RPS agents laughed at me.

“You’ll survive,” Geoff informed me. “You might not like it, but you’ll survive. I would like to remind you that your face is only part of the bill and that the image your wife picked was of you riding Baby when he had something to prove; she found the image to be particularly sexy.”

I joined them in laughing. “I tried telling her we’re supposed to be dignified not using the money to flirt with each other.”

“And then you did what?” Randy prompted.

“I sent in a picture of my wife in one of her best gowns when we had to update a different bill. Not only that, I sent it to the mint with a recommendation she be used in a commemorative coin or something if a bill wasn’t possible. They put her on the bill because the picture was too good to pass up. And that’s the story of why I keep several twenty dollar bills in my wallet at all times. Personally, I think she deserves to be on the hundred, but then I realized more people carry twenties than hundreds and stopped complaining I’m on that one. She might put me on the ones next time. I’ve already found a choice of ten excellent photos of her with her horses to put on the ones when the mint notifies us it’s time for a change of currency.” I shuddered at the thought of being put on the ones. “Think they’ll let me get away with not being on another bill ever again?”

Geoff winced, realized his error, and sighed. “The ones were already submitted.”

Damn it. “I’m going to be on the ones?”

“I’m afraid so.”

I bowed my head and slumped my shoulders. “Which picture?”

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