Page 26 of Best Kind of Trouble
I lift my eyebrows. “Me?”
“You’re fired. Leave. Get out of my sight.”
“Don’t you have to check in with your superiors before you trigger the nuclear option?” I ask, knowing he does—and that pointing it out will piss him off.
“No.” His face is an even darker shade of pink now. “I have complete autonomy. Go.”
I shrug, feeling like some lucky star must be hovering overhead. This is fantastic news all around, because my decision to join Silver Star is much less likely to be blamed on Hannah.
“Well, all right, Merry Christmas to you.” I pause, deciding I need to act at least slightly upset for my sister’s sake. “This is obviously incredibly difficult for me. Will you let me be the one who breaks the news to Hannah?”
His face softens slightly at the mention of Hannah. Everyone loves my sister, quite rightly (though he might feel less fond of her if he found out she’s the one who came up with the Frodo nickname while drunk off her ass at a staff party). He nods once in agreement.
I take off, whistling to myself. It feels like I’m getting away with something, which I suppose I am.
There’s no sign of Hannah on the floor, and I don’t seek her out. I really don’t want to get her into trouble, so it would be better to fill her in later, when we can talk privately.
In the meantime, I’ve got a business meeting to get to with my new boss.
CHAPTER SEVEN
LIAM
I spot her as soon as I walk into the diner. Of course I fucking do. She has golden hair down to her ass and the face of an angel. I could pick her out of a lineup of ten thousand people with only one eye open.
I don’t have a thing for her—she’s just objectively beautiful.
A warm chuckle draws my gaze away from her. An older woman with white-streaked brown hair and an ugly pink apron is standing practically in front of me, waving her hand to get my attention.
“Get in line, son,” she says. “We’ve had young men mooning over that girl all day. She hasn’t spoken to any of them yet.”
I clear my throat unnecessarily and shove my hands into my coat pockets. “But she asked me to meet her here”—my gaze dips to her name tag—“Sharon.”
Her expression turns icy. I’d know. I have a history of pissing off women without trying.
“It’s you, then,” she says with displeasure.
“Does my reputation precede me?”
“Go along,” she responds frostily, shooing me. “But if you hurt that young woman any more than you already have, I’ll giveyou a good wallop. The kind your mother should have given you.”
I can’t help but laugh. “You know, I’m flattered you think I could score with Princess over there, but it’s not that kind of a meeting. If you can find my mother, though, feel free to tell her off for both of us.”
I head on back, aware of Sharon’s eyes staring at me from behind. It’s surprisingly disconcerting.
“Briar?” I say as I near the table, because she’s writing feverishly in the notebook set out in front of her. A nearly empty glass of whiskey sits beside it, and she smells like she drank the whole bar.
Getting her sober might be more of a challenge than getting fired was.
Briar glances up, her big eyes full of excitement. “Liam! You came!”
I smile without meaning to. It’s not every day a man scores a greeting like that from a woman like her. Particularly not when he’s a six-foot-five bearded man with a broken nose. Plenty of people aren’t too happy to see me coming. It’s rare I get a one-person parade.
“Yeah,” I say, pulling out the chair across from her. It’s small, and I know before I sit down it’s going to be uncomfortable.
I lower into it, biting back a sigh as it digs into me.
Yep, damn near excruciating. I stretch my legs out to ease the discomfort, and my knee brushes against Briar’s.
