Page 28 of Jack
She turned and nearly crashed into a man standing right behind her. He caught her tray, then her arm as she overcorrected, nearly falling backward.
“Hey—you okay?”
She might call him good-looking, with his light-brown hair, short and tousled. He wore a hint of the same brown on his chin, his five-o’clock shadow kicking in. He wore black dress pants, cinched around a trim waist, and a white oxford, open at the neck, his sleeves rolled up his forearms, like he’d been working. Mr. Reflexes let her go, gave her a smile, and it was then that she noticed his eyes.
Blue—like the color of the ocean at dawn, deep and layered and possessing an ability to capture her.
Look away.
She’d seen him before. She knew it in her bones, like an ache deep inside that she couldn’t place.
“Sorry,” she said. “My fault.”
“No, that was mine. I was looking at my watch.” He held it up.
Nice watch. No, areallynice watch. A Rolex Submariner with a green face, silver cybersteel design, luminescent hands, waterproof at three hundred meters.
A dive watch.
So, a former spec ops guy. Or a wannabe? Even so, the watch landed at a solid ten G’s, so clearly Reflexes was part of the rich-and-famous club.
She might’ve considered lifting it if she weren’t already on a job.
Flashing a quick smile, she stepped back. “Brie bite?”
“They’re really good, Steinbeck,” said the woman behind her.
“Okay,” he said and took the bite. “Thanks.”
“Here to serve.” She winked then—oh, good grief—and walked away. Way to make herself memorable.
But she’d dumped her tray, which meant focus on the job. It was just a matter of timing. She glanced at Stone—he had maybe three, four sips left of his wine, depending on the degree of interest he had in the blonde’s riveting monologue.
She kept one eye on him as she slid by a couple just finishing their mules. They added their empty copper mugs to the tray.
One sip—no, two.
Time to angle toward the hearth?—
“Did you nearly knock over a guest?”
She glanced up, jolted. Nolan had come up behind her.
“Sorry. I turned too fast.”
“Slow down. Be invisible.”
She nodded. “Yes, sir.” Usually,invisiblewas her middle name.
“Fill your tray, then help fill the buffet trays in the kitchen.”
Her mouth tightened, but she nodded and yes-sir’d again. Glanced at Stone.
One more sip. Another server had started picking up glasses, heading down his row.
Probably wouldn’t be a good look to hurdle tables. But she needed that glass.
She smiled as she held up the tray to a big man, dark hair, a bit of beard growth, a lumberjack’s build. He gave her his empty can of Diet Coke. Hilarious.