Page 22 of Cognac Villain

Francia brightens. “Speaking of a perfect world, how was last night?”

Jorden squeals. “Girl, you missed out. That place was wall to wall with beefcakes.”

“Ew.” I wrinkle my nose. “I don’t remember seeing any beefcakes.”

“You probably just remember seeing one.” She wags her brows. “You were all over—”

“The snack table!” I interject. “There was a croquembouche.”

Jorden stares at me blankly. “A what?”

“A tower of cream puffs with caramel. It’s a French dessert. They’re like—”

“Boring!” Jorden blares. Her hangover is still lingering, so she winces at the sound of her own voice. “I didn’t eat a thing.”

“Hence the drunken stupor when I dragged you out of there.”

She looks at Francia and rolls her eyes. “She’s exaggerating. It was so much fun. I met this amazing guy. He’s an athlete and—”

Jorden rambles on. I listen in only so far as I need to make sure she doesn’t mention Ivan.

“—biceps like you wouldn’t believe.” Jorden is still talking a mile a minute. “He picked me up and carried me like I was nothing. I felt like I was on the cover of one of those historical romance novel covers. You know, with the ripped bodices and flowing hair? It was hella romantic.”

Francia turns to me the moment there’s a break in the conversation. “Who did you talk to, Cor? These things can be kind of snobby. Hopefully, everyone was nice.”

Jorden snorts. “Oh, they were more than nice. Cora was busy entertaining all night.”

I’ll kill her.I swear to God I will. I love her, but I’ll kill her.

“Entertaining who?” Francia asks.

I smile and wave her away. “Jorden was enjoying the free champagne too much to know what was going on. I just wandered around and observed.”

“You had to have talked to someone,” she presses. “Did anyone ask who invited you? What did you tell them?”

She seems oddly interested in my evening. But she’s probably just wondering what she missed.

“I only had to tell the security at the gate your name. Otherwise, no one asked,” I lie.

She frowns, her mouth opening to say something. But the bells above the front door jangle, cutting her off.

“Oh!” Jorden spins around and looks at the clock. “Wow. We are open already.”

I hurry and finish wiping down the last two tables while Francia slides all the chairs onto the floor.

“Come on in, boys,” Jorden calls to our customers. “We just opened, so give us a second to get ourselves sorted.” She plucks the rag out of my hand and slaps a stack of menus against my chest. “I need some more concealer and a vat of coffee before I can servethattable.”

I’m not sure what she means until I turn around.

“Brawny” doesn’t begin to cover it. The men at the table are huge in every direction. Thick necks, even thicker biceps. Three of them are decked out in all black like they’re stopping for a bite to eat before they continue on to their day jobs as top secret ninjas.

Except one man with his back to me. He’s narrower than the others, leaner in a way that I’ve always found more appealing. I can’t determine much from the back of his head, though.

The pull of attraction brings with it a thread of guilt. As if I owe the man I spent last night with at least twenty-four hours of emotional monogamy. It’s ridiculous, of course; I can guarantee Ivan Pushkin isn’t thinking about me right now. So I can be attracted to the back of whoever’s head I damn well please.

With that, I plaster on my best people-facing smile and slide menus across the tacky surface of their just-washed table.

“Welcome to Quintaño's. We’re serving brunch right now, so you lucky gentlemen get our full breakfastandlunch menu. Let me know what you’re in the mood for and I can point you to the right page in the—”