Page 2 of Beck and Call

There were a few other tables occupied in the diner, and I rushed around refilling drinks and clearing tables. It didn't take long before I heard Ian, the chef, yell my order was up.

I retrieved the plate and headed over to his table. "Here you go. Can I get you anything else?"

"Is it always this slow?" he asked instead of answering me.

I shrugged. "It's hit or miss during the day."

"Do you get any night shifts?" he asked.

Perhaps I should have been wary that a perfect stranger was basically striving to learn my routine. However, I was thrilled he seemed as interested in information about me as I was about any tiny detail about him.

I shook my head. "No. I've only worked here for about seven months. The night shift gets better tips, and there are others who've been here longer so they get priority in the schedule."

"When I came in you were scowling at the paper. I'm guessing you're looking for another job?"

I narrowed my eyes. This didn't happen to me. I was the invisible girl, hell, it was practically my superpower. "I didn't think you noticed me. Not even when I was taking your order."

"There’s an article in the paper about a company in Germany I’m working on a business deal with, and I may need to go in person to handle this negotiation, but I definitely noticed you."

He gestured to the other side of the booth. "Could you join me for a bit? I could use a diversion."

I looked around the restaurant and realized all my tables had cashed out. When had that happened? It wasn't just slow anymore, it was dead. I chuckled, though it wasn't really funny. "I think I can spare a few minutes."

"Distract me," he prompted.

"You're bossy," I commented.

The corner of his mouth curved up, and small lines appeared around his eyes. "Yes, and now that you know something about me, tell me something about you."

I rolled my eyes. "Like what?" Didn't he see the divide between us? He was Italian loafers and a custom suit. I was off-brand sneakers and a polyblend uniform. I was also starting to believe there was a fairly decent gap in our ages as well.

"How about your name?"

I tapped the name tag on my chest.

He turned his head and studied me. "You don't look like an Eden."

I laughed, this time out of embarrassment. Over the last several months I'd gotten used to the stupid nickname to the point I'd mostly forgotten about it. "Yeah, forgot about that. The owner thought it was funny to give me a nickname. My name is Evelyn, but everyone calls me Evie."

He smirked. "Cute. Tell me, what kind of work are you looking for?"

"A year ago I wanted a job in marketing. It's what my Bachelor’s degree is in."

"But now … " His eyes held mine and urged me to tell him everything.

His gaze was too intense, and I dropped my eyes down to the Formica table. "But now, I would be happy with just about anything that paid enough for me to live in this city."

"What's your name?" It felt weird to have such a personal conversation with a customer, especially one who's name I didn't know.

He pushed his plate away, having eaten his omelet, and extended his hand. "I'm Beckett, and don't change the subject."

He wasn't only bossy; I'd say he was the boss. I should bristle at the demanding tone he used with me, but some deep, dark part of me got a thrill every time he made demands. I was sure my feminist side would be revolted, but that side of me wasn't currently in charge.

"Why work this job though? You're pretty young, I'm guessing twenty-two? Surely your parents can help you until you find a suitable position."

My shoulders drooped. "I'm twenty-three, actually. I graduated last year."

"You didn't mention your family," he pressed.

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