Mimi rolled her eyes. “You can’t lose it since you can track it, you know.”
“You’ve been watching too much TV,” Blaine said. “Get back to work.”
Catherine
,
with heroin and a gun?
Highly doubtful. He knew her type. She was too soft and fine to dirty her hands with anything. In her world, that would be a man’s job.
He didn’t think anything more of Mimi’s wild talk. She was entitled to imagine whatever she wanted. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder about that money. Who’d sent it…and why? Most people would just wire money through Western Union or a bank.
* * *
Irene drove her to the bar and restaurant while Catherine concentrated on unclenching her jaw. Bunched muscles on the sides of one’s face were not attractive. Still, it annoyed her Irene would try to defend Willie Rae and Earl. It was extremely disloyal of her. Catherine rubbed the spot between her eyebrows. She missed Bee, her housekeeper in Texas. She was the sweetest thing, always discreet and eager to please, and would’ve never defended somebody who’d stolen from her employers.
Catherine frowned when she saw lights on inside The Line. “Is it open this early?”
“Yeah. They’re open for breakfast. Lunch too. Something Blaine started when he got the restaurant. Said it was good for business. Lots of folks go there for the coffee. It’s about the best around these parts.”
And there was her Aston Martin, right where she’d left it. “Well, the day is starting to look up a bit.” Catherine got out of the car. “Thanks, Irene.”
“You need me to clean the house or anything?”
“No, thank you. You can take the rest of the day if you want.”
“Okay.” Irene’s shoulders visibly relaxed.
Catherine opened the door to The Line, the siren song of good coffee loud in her head. And stopped dead when the place grew quieter than the inside of a coffin.
* * *
Blaine heard the conversation around him die and turned to see Catherine standing just inside the door.
Aw
,
shit
. Probably every single person in the restaurant had heard Mimi’s story by now.
Despite the silence settling around her, Catherine raised her chin and made her way to the counter. She took an empty stool and said, “Coffee, please. Black.”
She had her hair in a ponytail and was wearing dark blue jeans, but she looked like a queen. Backlit from the door, her skin had almost seemed to glow in the morning sunlight and her eyebrows were plucked into a pair of imperial arches.
Mimi blinked, then ran off to the kitchen. That stupid woman was going to hide in there, Blaine thought, and go on and on about the scary drug dealer with a caffeine addiction. Blaine poured coffee for Catherine. “Here you go.”
Something about the impeccable way she was put together made Blaine want to grab her and mess it all up with a long hot kiss. It’d put more color in those high cheeks, and her hair would come tumbling down like a chocolate river of silk…where he could grab a handful or two.
His balls tightened, and he swallowed a curse. She wasn’t the kind of woman to fuck someone and then high-five the guy, say, “That was fun” and be cool about it afterward. She’d treat him like dirt on her spike heel, wash herself clean of his scent and go back to her ignorant husband.
“Thanks,” she said. She wrapped her delicate hands around the mug and took a big swallow. “Mmm, so good.” Her lips curved into a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
Blaine watched her drink the rest of her coffee. There was something amazingly fine and soft about her, and that was what drew him. He always liked women classier than he could afford. But those women were terribly destructive. He’d seen how people like them operated when he was growing up. If he hadn’t faced off with Ceinlys once in private—and while she was buck naked—he might have chalked up their negative behavior to youthful immaturity. But he knew people didn’t change just because they grew
“You’ve been watching too much TV,” Blaine said. “Get back to work.”
Catherine
,
with heroin and a gun?
Highly doubtful. He knew her type. She was too soft and fine to dirty her hands with anything. In her world, that would be a man’s job.
He didn’t think anything more of Mimi’s wild talk. She was entitled to imagine whatever she wanted. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder about that money. Who’d sent it…and why? Most people would just wire money through Western Union or a bank.
* * *
Irene drove her to the bar and restaurant while Catherine concentrated on unclenching her jaw. Bunched muscles on the sides of one’s face were not attractive. Still, it annoyed her Irene would try to defend Willie Rae and Earl. It was extremely disloyal of her. Catherine rubbed the spot between her eyebrows. She missed Bee, her housekeeper in Texas. She was the sweetest thing, always discreet and eager to please, and would’ve never defended somebody who’d stolen from her employers.
Catherine frowned when she saw lights on inside The Line. “Is it open this early?”
“Yeah. They’re open for breakfast. Lunch too. Something Blaine started when he got the restaurant. Said it was good for business. Lots of folks go there for the coffee. It’s about the best around these parts.”
And there was her Aston Martin, right where she’d left it. “Well, the day is starting to look up a bit.” Catherine got out of the car. “Thanks, Irene.”
“You need me to clean the house or anything?”
“No, thank you. You can take the rest of the day if you want.”
“Okay.” Irene’s shoulders visibly relaxed.
Catherine opened the door to The Line, the siren song of good coffee loud in her head. And stopped dead when the place grew quieter than the inside of a coffin.
* * *
Blaine heard the conversation around him die and turned to see Catherine standing just inside the door.
Aw
,
shit
. Probably every single person in the restaurant had heard Mimi’s story by now.
Despite the silence settling around her, Catherine raised her chin and made her way to the counter. She took an empty stool and said, “Coffee, please. Black.”
She had her hair in a ponytail and was wearing dark blue jeans, but she looked like a queen. Backlit from the door, her skin had almost seemed to glow in the morning sunlight and her eyebrows were plucked into a pair of imperial arches.
Mimi blinked, then ran off to the kitchen. That stupid woman was going to hide in there, Blaine thought, and go on and on about the scary drug dealer with a caffeine addiction. Blaine poured coffee for Catherine. “Here you go.”
Something about the impeccable way she was put together made Blaine want to grab her and mess it all up with a long hot kiss. It’d put more color in those high cheeks, and her hair would come tumbling down like a chocolate river of silk…where he could grab a handful or two.
His balls tightened, and he swallowed a curse. She wasn’t the kind of woman to fuck someone and then high-five the guy, say, “That was fun” and be cool about it afterward. She’d treat him like dirt on her spike heel, wash herself clean of his scent and go back to her ignorant husband.
“Thanks,” she said. She wrapped her delicate hands around the mug and took a big swallow. “Mmm, so good.” Her lips curved into a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
Blaine watched her drink the rest of her coffee. There was something amazingly fine and soft about her, and that was what drew him. He always liked women classier than he could afford. But those women were terribly destructive. He’d seen how people like them operated when he was growing up. If he hadn’t faced off with Ceinlys once in private—and while she was buck naked—he might have chalked up their negative behavior to youthful immaturity. But he knew people didn’t change just because they grew
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