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“Oh.”

“But I’m free tomorrow night.”

He met her heated gaze, and there was no mistaking the flash of excitement in her dark eyes. His heart thumped wildly in his chest. “Dinner?”

“I’d like that.”

“Can I have your number?” He shifted in his seat and retrieved his phone from the pocket of his jeans. “So we can work out the details?”

“Sure.” She took the phone from him and sent herself a message so he would have her phone number. “I’m out of the salon by five tomorrow, but I have Pilates until six.”

“How about eight?” He hesitated before adding, “I can cook for you if you’d like.”

“You cook?” She playfully narrowed her eyes. “Well, now my interest is piqued. I’d love to come over for dinner.”

They firmed up their plans as she walked him to the front desk and grabbed the products he wanted to try from the nearby shelves. She smiled at him one last time before leaving him with Billie who nosily asked him what he was going to cook for Nisha.

“She had gumbo for lunch today. Don’t make anything similar to that. Oh—you forgot to boop the card reader.” She gestured to the device mounted on the counter. “Definitely skip any of that funky Russian food with cabbage or beets. There is nothing sexy about cabbage or beets.”

“Noted,” he muttered, wishing the card reader would hurry up so he could get out of there. "And Russian food isn't just beets and cabbage, Billie. That's racist as hell."

She wrinkled her nose. "I don't think that's the right word for it. Stereotyping? Profiling?"

"It's a rude assumption is what it is."

"You're right. I will chastise myself properly during my evening prayers. Flogging. Hairshirt. The whole bit. Straight back to my Catholic roots."

"Are you like this at home?" Ten knew her big sister and couldn't fathom how she handled Billie.

"Jamie encourages me to work as much as possible."

"I bet she does."

"Hey, make sure you get a good dessert for dinner." She put his products into a small paper bag stamped with the salon’s logo. “Like a really good one. Something fancy but delicious from a bakery. If you can’t get to a real bakery, H-E-B is fine, but stick to the stuff in the bakery case.”

“Anything else?”

“Well...”

“I was kidding.” He snatched the bag and receipt from her hand. “See you later, Billie.”

“Bye! If you need help planning your menu, I’m happy to help! Unless you’re going to make vegan food in which case, you’re on your own!”

Shaking his head, he left the salon and wondered how Billie had ever managed to get hired at Allure. Then again, a spunky chatterbox was the perfect fit for the reception desk. God help whatever man was crazy enough to fall in love with her.

He had just reached his Tahoe when his phone began to ring. He unlocked his door and answered. “Yeah?”

“Ten. It’s Kostya. Get to the storage center as soon as you can. We have a problem.”

The call ended before he could reply. Dread washed away the excitement of finally securing a date with Nisha. Whatever awaited him at the warehouse was surely going to fuck up his plans.

Chapter Three

Laterthatevening,whenI stepped out of the bar and grill where my book club met, I was taken aback to see Detective Eric Santos leaning against my Rubicon. We had practically grown up together, living on the same street and going to the same schools. Our relationship was one of a brother and sister so I scowled and called out, “You better not scratch my paint with all that flashy nonsense on your belt.”

Eric laughed and shoved off the Jeep. “Sorry, Cinderella. I’ll step away from your pumpkin.”

“The color is Punk’n Metallic, Detective,” I corrected with playful haughtiness. “And I love it.”

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