slid Rowan a droll look. “Katrina thought I was meeting Rowan Greenly.”
Rowan shuddered. “You have more sense than that. She’s hot but her husband is psycho.”
Jonas pulled his hands from his pockets and placed his forearms on her counter, the fabric of his suit bunching around impressive biceps. Kat lifted an eyebrow of her own, annoyed that she could easily imagine pushing that jacket off his shoulders and down his arms, ripping that shirt apart to find out whether his skin was as hot as she imagined.
She swallowed a moan. It was time to do her job. “Let me take you to your table, Mr. Halstead.”
“Since you felt comfortable enough to make assumptions about my love life, you should be comfortable enough to call me Jonas. Or Joe.”
Kat walked around the podium and gestured to the already full dining room. She deliberately ignored his provoking statement and his friend’s amused expression. “I’ve placed you by the window. It has the most wonderful view of the beach below. This way, gentlemen.” Kat started the familiar walk into the restaurant, forcing her expression into one of calm serenity.
Please don’t look at my ass, Kat thought as Jonas fell into step behind her. Or, if you do, please like it.
For God’s sake, Katrina! What is wrong with you?
“You have a—”
Thankful they were at his table, Kat turned and waited for his cocky comment.
But Jonas said nothing. He just moved to stand behind her, his height and width dwarfing her. He lifted his hand to her neck and Kat felt the tips of his fingers graze her skin. He barely made contact but suddenly her feet were glued to the floor and every cell in her body was set to vibrate. If he kissed her she’d spontaneously combust. She was sure of it.
Jonas twisted his hand and quickly snapped off the tag to her dress and held it up. “You obviously forgot to take it off. Here you go.”
Kat’s eyes bounced between the tag in his hand and his eyes, horror smothering the burning attraction she felt for the man.
Oh, crap, oh, crap, oh, crap. He’d ripped the tag when he pulled it off and she wouldn’t be able to reattach it.
Oh, God, Tess had made it very clear that the bar code had to remain intact, that it could not be reproduced. Kat wouldn’t be able to return the dress.
Her stomach climbed up her throat and lodged behind her tonsils. She was quite certain the air in the room was fast disappearing.
“Are you okay?” Jonas asked from a place far away. “Katrina?”
His voice pulled her back from the abyss, just a foot or so, enough for her to get some air into her lungs and oxygen to her brain.
You can’t faint. You can’t yell at him. You can’t even react.
You need this damn job.
But she couldn’t speak. She was unable to command her tongue to form even the smallest response. Intellectually she knew he thought he’d been doing her a favor, but his assumption had just piled another suitcase of stress onto the load she was already struggling to carry. Was this the straw that would break her back?
Kat suspected it might be. She snatched the tag from Jonas’s hand and spun on her heel, praying she made it to the staff restroom without throwing up.
She now owed more than a thousand dollars on a dress she couldn’t afford and it was Jonas Halstead’s fault.
God, sexy man or not, if he had been eating with Rowan Greenly, Kat would have called Rowan’s psycho husband and told him where to find Jonas.
And she would have suggested he bring his biggest gun.
Kat, reaching her desk at the entrance of the restaurant and its adjoining bar, looked at the rows of liquor above the bartender’s head and wished she could order something long, strong and alcoholic. Her eyes danced across a group in the corner, a girl and four guys, all pierced and tattooed. They were drinking the Mariella, the world-famous cocktail named after Harrison’s wife. She could do with a Mariella, or three, right now. Actually she could really do with one of Mariella Santiago-Marshall’s limitless, solid black credit cards or access to her bank account.
Crap. What the hell was she going to do?
“Please, please tell me you’d left the tag on the dress as a mistake—that you weren’t planning on returning it in the morning.”
Kat spun around and blinked at the multicolored creature standing in front of her. Her dress was a slinky cocktail number with a plunging neck and spaghetti straps the color of lemon sorbet. It was the perfect foil for the ink on her body. Pulling her eyes up from the amazing artwork, Kat looked into an elfin face dominated by a pair of warm brown eyes. The woman had a series of piercings in her lower lip and along her eyebrow; she had a tiny butterfly tattoo on her temple.
“You look amazing,” Kat said. She sighed. It was obviously her night for allowing her mouth to run away with her.
“Thank you. But you didn’t answer my question. Were you returning the dress?”
Kat looked into the restaurant and scowled in Halstead’s direction. She never discussed one customer with another, but this woman would join her equally inked friends in the bar—birds of a feather—and she didn’t see the harm in answering her question. Kat could spot a trust-fund baby at sixty paces and this woman was not one of them.
She lowered her voice. “Yes, it’s borrowed. I was returning it in the morning. Now I’m going to have to pay for it, which was never the damned plan.” Not sure what it was about this painted fairy that had her spilling her secrets, Kat continued, “God, I could just kill him. I don’t have a thousand dollars to spend on a dress! I don’t have a thousand dollars, full stop!”
“Thirteen hundred.” The girl bit her lip. “It’s a Callisto. Thirteen ninety-five, including tax.”
Kat resisted the urge to bang her head against her desk. She swore, softly. “Dammit. I swear, I don’t care that he’s as sexy as sin and hotter than the sun, he’s a stupid, idiot man!”
Before the painted fairy could reply, Elana Marshall interrupted their conversation by placing a hand on Kat’s shoulder.
Kat spun around and smiled at the youngest Marshall and prayed that Elana hadn’t heard her last emphatic statement. “Hi, Elana, did you have a nice evening?”
The dimple in Elana’s cheek flashed. “I did. Thanks, Kat.”
Elana looked at Pixie Girl, her eyes bouncing from tat to tat, her mouth curving upward. “Love the angel on your arm.” Without waiting for a response, Elana turned her attention back to Kat. “So who is the idiot man?”
Kat wanted to scrunch her eyes shut in mortification. She and Elana were friends, sort of, in a “hey, how are you” sort of way. Elana was an heiress and Kat was Elana’s father’s employee. Kat’s eyes darted to Pixie Girl, silently begging her not to answer.
