Page 1 of Forking the Billionaire

ONE

ESME

There’s no good way to hide a lizard in your pants. Fortunately for me, I wasn’t wearing pants.

Not even cargo pockets could contain the little squirmers with their sticky toes and endless escape tactics. I’d learned my lesson the last time, or more accurately, over the course of the last three times testing different pocket styles.

Last week, trial three had concluded with the terrified anole leaping out of my pants, plopping into a customer’s mojito, and being mistaken for a lime. Of course that misperception only lasted about ten seconds, at which point the guy lifted his drink to his lips, then the anole sprung from the glass and landed in his wife’s hair.

Ever since that night, I made a conscious effort to always wear a dress with big, Santa’s-sack-sized pockets for optimal lizard storage during my shifts at Rum Bum Tiki Tavern. Today was no exception.

The plan: snatch up every adrift anole before Rufus could.

The stakes: life or death.

Upbeat ukulele played through the speakers, sweet and fatty scents drifted from the kitchen, and empty glasses reflected the ceiling fan’s spinning blades. A handful of patrons enjoyed theirmeals at the outdoor tables on the patio. There was a good three hours left until the evening rush. The only people inside the building were my friends Ziggy and Sage sitting on tiki head stools across the bar from me, Rufus in the back, and the lizard I’d just tucked away in my right pocket. That’s right, lizards count as people.

“Kill it!” Rufus barreled out of the kitchen.

He wasn’t a large man, or particularly imposing in any way, even with a scowl on his face and a spatula waving in his fist like a weapon. But, he was my boss.

Since I needed use of my hands to prove I wasn’t up to any shenanigans, I leaned my hip against the bar to keep the top of my pocket sealed. I dropped the lemons I’d just sliced into their little bin and feigned ignorance. “Kill what?”

“You know what.” Despite his murderous intent, his sour expression, and his snarly tone, Rufus was actually a lovely person. He had trench-deep laugh lines and crow's feet to prove it. “Same scourge I’m forced to fight every single day of my life.”

Even though he was talking to Rufus, Ziggy’s dark eyes narrowed at me. “You might not want to talk so loudly about scourges.”

“Or let customers know you’re planning to deal the death blow with the same tool you use to flip their burgers.” Sage turned her blueberry gaze to the rusty spatula in Rufus’s fist.

Rufus glared at each of them in turn. “You both know this is my anole smasher. It never touched a bit of food in its life, never will.”

“But do the customers know that?” Sage raised a brow, nearly as bushy and equally as gray as Rufus’s.

Rufus grumbled, shook his head, then leveled a beseeching gaze at me. “These two don’t count as customers. No one else is here. If they were, I’d explain the truth to them myself. NowI swear one of them dirty little anole menaces slipped through that door not thirty seconds before me. You didn’t see it, Esme?”

See the lizard? Yes, I had. I’d also scooped him up. He was wiggling wildly against my thigh at this very moment. And it happened about one minute and forty-five seconds before Rufus had burst out of the kitchen, not thirty seconds ago.

I shrugged.

Rufus grumbled again. “Fine. But you let me know when you spot it.”

“Sure.” I offered him a friendly, there’s-not-an-anole-in-my-pocket smile.

Temporarily appeased, he stomped back into the kitchen. I watched him from the corner of my eye, biding my time until I could make my move. Experience told me it would take him about sixty-seven seconds at his current stomping speed for him to make it back to the stool he liked to sit on while he waited for an order to be placed.

Ziggy leaned across the bar, a devious grin on his face. “Goodness me, Esme. Is that a lizard in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”

I leaned in, smiled back, and said, “Neither.”

Sage snorted. Ziggy dropped his shoulders in mock defeat.

About fifty-six seconds after Rufus had started his stomping, I made a run for the door, carefully keeping my pocket sealed without squishing the tiny dude hiding inside.

Beaming sunlight greeted me as I stepped across the threshold, along with a cool, salty breeze from the ocean, and the kind of warm air that felt like a hug from nature. The little island of Calypso Caribella had no right to feel so amazingly inviting in what was supposed to be winter, but I wasn’t one to complain. The glory of the island’s perpetual summer vibes wasn’t why I was here, but it was a big part of why I’d chosen to stay.

A sudden wave of nausea hit me, not an uncommon occurrence as of late. I’d thought it was just an adjustment to the differences in water, but I was starting to think it might be something else, like a spice allergy or something. As quickly as it hit, the nausea faded.

I circled halfway around the building, sidled up to the bush near the dumpster, and did a quick scan of the area. I could hear people chatting on the deck and the crashing of waves from the beach beyond. I couldn’t see anyone, though. And most importantly, there was no sign of Rufus.

---