one precious drop. Those brown hands...the nails were clean and clipped, but there was no mistaking them for the hands of a gentleman. If he applied even the slightest pressure, the thick green bottle might shatter.
“How many glasses do you need me to fill?” he asked.
“I don’t need you to do anything,” Sofia replied. “I’d love for you to join the party and enjoy your evening.”
She couldn’t drop the show of indignation. She had employees to impress. He glanced up at her. Brown eyes like rum swirling into a glass.
“Fifty,” she said. “Plus an extra ten. You never know.”
“Well, line ’em up.”
Melissa handed him bottle after bottle. Ericka loaded up the trays. Sofia stood to the side, watching her team and this stranger work quietly and efficiently together. The door swung open again. A young guy, a lawyer-in-the-making type, poked his head in. “What are you doing in here? Everyone’s looking for you.”
“Okay,” he said. “I’m done!”
Sofia inspected his work. All sixty champagne flutes were filled to equal height, ready to go. He reached for his jacket. On his way out, he turned to her and said pointedly, “You’re welcome.”
She shrugged. He wasn’t worth sparring with—because for sure she’d lose. Her staff, though, cheered the unlikely hero.
“Give me a break!” Sofia groaned. “He poured champagne!”
“But he did it with style!” Melissa declared.
“Let’s stay on schedule,” Sofia said. “Ericka, have the waiters serve the host and the guest of honor first.”
Her troops went out and returned with news. “You won’t believe it! Mr. I-Used-To-Be-A-Waiter? He’s the guest of honor. He’s out there giving a speech. This party is for him.”
Sofia popped a crab cake in her mouth. Interesting. He must have been nervous and slumming in the kitchen was his way to take the edge off.
“That’s so cool, don’t you think?” Melissa said.
There was no time to think. The kitchen door swung open again and this time a woman burst in. She was stunning with a caramel complexion and cheekbones that ought to be insured, but her features were distorted. Tears streaming down her cheeks made tar of her mascara. “I need a drink! Give me something, anything.”
Sofia braced herself. What roller-coaster ride was this?
Melissa offered her a bottle of water. The woman huffed. “Do I look like I need water?”
Sofia sent her employees away and took over. She grabbed a bottle of Patrón and a couple of glasses and guided the woman to a table by the kitchen’s fantastic bay windows. She poured generously and began her usual speech to calm unruly party guests. “I don’t know you or what you’re going through—”
“I’ll tell you.”
Oh, boy.
“He was only supposed to be with us a few weeks!” Her Brazilian accent produced petal-soft o’s and u’s. “I thought, why not have a little fun?”
Sofia knew instinctively who he was. She spotted him through the window out by the pool, sipping from a glass of champagne that he’d poured. He looked radiant in the fading September sun. His dark hair was cut short, barely visible, and it didn’t matter because his thick brows framed his face beautifully. But that was neither here nor there.
“I should’ve known they were going to recruit him. They all love him at the firm. He has a nickname and everything.”
“What’s the nickname?”
“What?” the woman asked.
Sofia flushed. “Never mind.”
“The Gun.”
Sofia poured some tequila for herself and wondered how he might’ve earned it. It couldn’t have been looks alone.
The woman read her mind. “He’s that good.”
Okay, then.
“They asked him to stay and he said yes. Things were great between us. We had this amazing connection, so I figured—”
“You figured wrong.” Sofia didn’t need GPS to figure out where this story was heading.
The woman slammed her glass on the marble-top table. Tequila flew everywhere.
Sofia reached for a napkin and wiped up the mess. The hostess was really fond of her antique furniture.
“I’ve seen him.” Sofia pointed out the window, but “The Gun” was no longer out there. “The man is a shot of rum and he went straight to your head. But you can’t afford to fall apart like this. You work with these people, and you’ll have to face them all on Monday. Mess up and I promise you the catty bitches out there won’t ever let you live it down. And I’m not talking about the women.”
Sofia assumed the silence that followed her little speech was a well-earned response. Then it stretched out a beat too long and something in the way the woman gripped her glass warned her that they were no longer alone.
How much had he heard?
The woman rose from the table, brushed tequila droplets off her dress and strode out of the kitchen without uttering a word.
Sofia sat with her back to the door and didn’t move until she heard it creak shut and she was certain he was gone. When you thought about it, she’d done him a favor—a big one. Life had a way of leveling the score.
So, Mr. Gun...you’re welcome.
Five months later...
Jon had expected nothing until she walked in. Then, suddenly, his morning burst open with possibilities. After a glance around the auditorium, she picked a seat near him. Was it coincidence or the might of his will? He watched her drop her massive purse on one of the three empty seats between them, effectively erecting a wall. She crossed her golden-brown legs and went about the careful business of removing her sunglasses. Her profile was partially obstructed by a cloud of reddish-brownish curls flowing past her shoulders, but he made out the fringe of her lashes, the upward curve of her nose and a carefully drawn mouth.
It was going to be a lovely day.
“Please rise for Judge Antoine Roland.”
Jon rose. He couldn’t shake creeping déjà vu. Had they met before and where?
Judge Roland welcomed the drowsy assembly to the Miami-Dade County jury pool. After a reminder of the importance of jury duty in the great scheme of American democracy, he led the assembly in reciting
