Page 9 of Wicked Takeover
Not expecting that, Lauren stiffened but embraced Jasmina in return. The girl smelled like baby powder. Somehow, Lauren wanted to protect her as she would a younger sibling.
Jasmina gave her another squeeze and stepped back. “I’m so sorry about your dad. Frank was the absolute best. Unbelievably nice. I really needed a job so I could pay for school. Told him I’d die if he didn’t hire me, so he did.” She bounced on her heels.
Lauren nodded dumbly, stunned at Frank’s kindness to others. She supposed it wasn’t too shocking as far as Jasmina was concerned. Not only was she sweet, she was even better looking than she had originally thought. Flawless skin dewy with youth, large dark eyes surrounded by sooty lashes, a mouth Angelina Jolie would have envied, her mood filled with excitement and hope because no one had crushed her dreams yet.
She didn’t want to be the person to do that. Not today. No matter what Lauren had told Dante earlier, she didn’t want to hurt the people here.
“So you’re in college.” She hoped Jasmina wasn’t studying human resources, a dying field. The corporate community’s newest way to make an extra buck was to outsource HR functions. “What are you taking?”
“Business administration at the community college.” Jasmina jabbed her thumb at something behind her, presumably the school. “So far, I’ve gotten nothing but A’s in my courses.”
Dante flashed a grin like a proud older brother. “Jasmina’s our resident brain.”
She waved her hand dismissively, though her smile widened. “Dante’s just kidding. He’s the one with the brains. He’s—”
“This is getting cold.” He lifted the bag.
Van Gogh muttered beneath his breath and shook his head. “I’m not hungry.”
“Sure you are.” Dante slapped him on the back. “Throw on your shirt and join us. Lauren, you’ll eat with us, too.”
“Oh no, I couldn’t.”
“Why not?” Jasmina looked concerned. “You don’t like Mexican food? You want me to get you something else?”
“No, please don’t. I’m good.”
“With this, you’ll be better.” Dante had already opened the top Styrofoam container. Four enchiladas swam in red sauce. Cheese blanketed them. To the side were scoops of sour cream and guacamole, refried beans smothered in more cheese, and a mound of Spanish rice.
Amazing scents from corn, beef, chicken, garlic, and onion wafted toward Lauren. Her taste buds came alive.
Dante eased the container closer to her. “Smell good?”
Better than any perfume she’d ever owned. “Yeah, but I really don’t want anything. I’m not hungry.”
Her stomach growled loud and long. She pretended it hadn’t. “I’m not. Seriously.”
Dante gave her a look that said he wasn’t buying it. “There’s enough here for everyone, including you.” He elbowed Van Gogh. “Come on. Things are going to be all right.”
“Why wouldn’t they be?” Jasmina took everyone in.
This time, Lauren kept her big mouth shut.
Dante shrugged. “No reason. Just making conversation.” He led the way to the back.
Van Gogh slunk into a side room, presumably for his shirt. Lauren followed Dante and Jasmina until the obvious hit her. She stopped. “Shouldn’t someone be up front in case a customer comes in?”
Dante halted. So did Jasmina.
“I could wait on the people who arrive.” Lauren backed up. “I don’t mind. You guys go ahead and enjoy your meal.” Without her hanging around and intruding, they’d be certain to do that. Van Gogh could curse her or cry. Shit, she felt like a jerk, especially when he came back out fully clothed, his face glum.
“It’s early.” Dante faced her. “This place doesn’t start hopping until four or so.”
So they did have some busy times here. That was a relief and a good selling point she’d mention to a buyer. Even so, Lauren didn’t budge. No way would she intrude. “What if someone comes in and steals a tee or something else while we’re in the back?”
Dante regarded her. Not as an employee or coworker would.
As a man.
