Page 17 of Café Diablo

And the fell of her—

Fuck.

I crumple up the paper I’m working on and toss it across the room.

Just fuck!

9

Olivia

“What the hell did you do to my brother?”

It’s six o’clock and my shift doesn’t start for half an hour. But instead of changing into my hostess attire, I’m currently standing in the hallway of Flambé with Connor blocking the way.

It’s been three days since the party, and when I woke up the next morning, I had the biggest hangover of my life. We’re talking giants clogging in wooden shoes on my head hung-over. I self-medicated like the best of ‘em—water, aspirin, an entire bread truck of carbs—and when that wasn’t enough, I practically bought a home-remedy store out of its supply of supplements. I now own far more prickly pear, red ginseng, and borage oil than is humanly advisable.

I also called in sick.

For three days I called in sick.

I know it’s lame, but I haven’t wanted to face Connor and deal with him asking me whatexactlyhappened on his brother’s birthday. It is true that Connor assigned me to babysit his brother all night, but he didn’t task me with giving Edwin a happy ending. So, lamely, I’ve been hiding out at home and avoiding this exact conversation.

Let’s be real, there’sno waythat Connor and Edwin don’t talk. It’s an unspoken brother code or something—get laid, tell your fellow DNA all about it. I’m sure such rituals have their roots in caveman days, when ensuring your family line lasts the next drought was one’s life-calling. So yeah, I’m pretty sure they’ve swapped stories—as evidenced by the fact that Connor is currently standing in front of me ready to hulk-out.

Not that I regret it.

I don’t.

I don’t regret it for a second. If I had to do it over again, I would—and then some. I’m just not a fan of the “Handcuffing my brother is cute, but that little knob shine on the patio was a step too far” conversation I’m about to endure.

“Your brother’s an adult,” I say, warding off Connor’s incoming barrage of questions and lifting up my bag to indicate I need him to move out of the way so I can go change into my hostess attire in the bathroom.

“That’s not what I asked,” Connor replies, folding his muscled arms and blocking my path. His blue eyes sparkle with that same determination I saw half the night from Edwin. It’s a signature Voss-family smirk that says,Buck up, sunshine.I’m not ready to surrender and roll over. Stubbornness and persistence are probably excellent traits for lawyers and overprotective brothers, however, the Achilles heel I used on Edwin’s bullheadedness (the previously mentioned knob shine) isn’t exactly repeatable with Connor.

“Go ahead, judge me!” I put my hands on my hips and stare at my boss’s boyfriend. When in doubt, get sassy. “Say whatever it is you need to say. Let’s get this over with.”

“Oh, I don’t want to judge you,” Connor says, shaking his head as his face breaks into a vexing grin. “Oh, no. I want to give you a freaking gold medal.”

“What?”

“And then,” he continues, far too excited, “I want to figure out how to get you to dowhatever you did—again and again.”

“Excuse me?” My arms drop as confusion etches into my skin. “He didn’ttell you?”

“Ah-ha!” Connor points a finger at me like he just discovered the clue to unlocking some mysterious puzzle. “Iknewyou did something.”

My face falls, certain Connor is just playing with me now. “I didn’t—” I shut up and try to shoulder my way past him, which is fruitless because he’s way too big. “He’s your brother. If you want to gossip? Go talk to him!”

“Oh, no no,” Connor corrects, stopping me in my path and becoming a wall. “You’ve got this all wrong. Ned doesn’t tell me anything. Ever. He’s the warden of ‘what happens at Flambé, stays at Flambé.’ Locked up. Sealed lips. For all time. Think attorney-client privilege, except it extends to all things female and good looking and possibly able to get him to not be a raging asshole.”

I squint at Connor, not sure if he’s pulling my leg. Guys talk. That’s just part of the rules, isn’t it? Especially after I dragged his brother all the way to the party and kept him handcuffed to me all night. There’s no way Edwindidn’tcomplain about that for the last three days straight.

“What are you talking about?” I venture, not sure I should trust Connor.

“I’m talking about the fact that my brother walked back in here after the party,” Connor points past me to the dining room, “drunk out of his mind—bravo by the way, usually he has one and is done for the night.”

“One?” I clench my teeth together sheepishly. “Yeah, uh, he definitely had, well, more than one.”

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