Page 12 of One Secret

She is perfectly cool. No reaction at all, in fact.

That… doesn't sit well with me.

Perhaps she's so used to men staring at her ass that she no longer notices. Or maybe she has a unit of a boyfriend somewhere that I don't know about. One she can run to for exacting revenge, should anything go too far… making her unafraid of petty letches.

I glance at the guy behind the bar. The one who had shown her all that puppy-dog concern.

Not him. The kid is tall but thin enough that I could post him head-first through a mailbox.

Someone else then, maybe.

Not that you care. I remind myself. Your mechanic, remember? Not your lover.

After punching in the cost of our drinks, Darcy holds Fiori's credit card against her portable payment screen and, after a beep, returns the piece of plastic.

As she does so, the pocket of her apron flares with light.

Fiori freezes, the card still hovering between them. He glances at me.

'The Blue Star appear liberal with their regulations,' he suggests pointedly. 'I recall a time when employees on shift had to keep their phones elsewhere.'

Uh-oh.

Quickly, I piece together the headhunter's suspicions.

He had come here tonight to meet with a man who is, as yet, untrustworthy. A man claiming to want in with his boss: a known gangster and mafia Don. The arrangement had been to meet alone. And, whilst he had flagrantly flouted that rule, Fiori has no patience for others taking the same liberties.

With that framework in mind… Why might an employee—one whom Fiori already suspects to be more than a stranger to me—have a cell phone with her on shift?

And why might that device light up in his presence?

It's a reaching conclusion but not a totally unreasonable one. The woman in the green dress is proof enough that satellite agents, set up to record discussions for future leverage, are common practice. And Fiori is obviously halfway to being convinced that I've hired a similar (if incompetent) equivalent.

Her expression analytical, Darcy glances between the two of us before deciding that the conversation is about her and not to her. So, she merely thanks Fiori for his patronage and leaves.

As soon as she's safely back behind the bar, I assess my options, meet Fiori's gaze head-on, and finally heave a shallow exhale like I've been caught in a lie.

'I'm seeing her,' I admit, deciding to take the lesser of two evils.

'Your girlfriend? The bartender?' Fiori's eyes shoot so wide that I'm offended on Darcy's behalf. Lowly as it might seem to a high-flyer like Fiori, tending bar is hardly a disgraceful profession.

'Something like that,' I grunt to avoid sounding too committed.

'Recent?'

Darcy and I started our… whatever it is… in February. It's now August. The more truth in a lie, the easier it is to spin, so I decide to answer with vague honesty:

'A few months.'

Fiori's eyes light up.

'Then you should bring her with you.'

The tips of my fingers numb out.

'Excuse me?' I ask, deadpan.

'To Nisí tou Chrysoú. Mr. Caruso's resort. I'm sure she'll enjoy a brief getaway.'

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