Depressed, she told Xav she was heading a few doors down to get herself an enchilada at the little café that served New Mexico–style Mexican food. Paul had already gone down there, Xav said and offered to walk with her.
Xav was another nice guy, Misty decided. He wore the same black T-shirt as the rest of the security men, the tight fabric showing off every muscle beneath it. Diego and Xav had probably decided on the shirts to reassure clients that DX Security hired only strong guys.
Misty focused on the DX men in an effort to not dwell on a Shifter who also looked hot in a tight T-shirt. Even hotter without it.
Graham hadn’t called Misty all morning, hadn’t said a word. Stay away, he’d told her forcefully. Misty thought she understood why—now that she’d broken free of the thirst spell, he didn’t want her near him to get caught in danger again. He was hurting, vulnerable, and didn’t want to drag her into his problems.
Well, she’d dragged him into hers first. They should work on this together.
But who was she kidding? Graham had never indicated he wanted anything more from Misty than dating, and not even serious dating. Even if they figured out a way to get Graham free from the Fae spell, Graham might tell Misty he wanted to call it quits. She’d already laid the groundwork by getting mad at him and asking him not to call her.
And look how long that had lasted. Graham had come charging to her house only a few hours later. And now he was deciding they should stay apart. He drove her insane, and she was never going to win a control battle with him.
She needed to forget about Graham, Misty decided. There were plenty of other men around—for instance, Xav, or Kevin the insurance guy.
But Graham wasn’t someone she could easily forget, and Misty knew it. He lingered, like the taste of the best wine—or something with a little harsher bite, like the tequila last night.
You are so beautiful. The words had softened Graham’s rough-edged voice. The tequila talking, Misty guessed. But the phrase had shot straight to her heart and lodged there. She had no illusions about what she looked like, but Graham had been talking about how he saw her. Misty would treasure his words for a long time.
Misty and Xav reached the restaurant. It was crowded, this place popular. Paul had already snagged a table. Misty ordered herself an enchilada with spinach and white cheese topped with green chile sauce, her favorite. Paul went for a chimi, and Xav had the carnitas, the restaurant’s specialty.
Halfway through the meal, which Misty was too distracted to appreciate, Paul excused himself and went into the back. When Misty glanced at him in the rear hall of the restaurant, he beckoned to her.
He wanted to talk to her alone. Paul wasn’t entirely comfortable in social atmospheres yet, and he often asked Misty to step aside with him while he worked out his nerves.
“What is it?” she asked quietly as she joined him. The restaurant’s crowd was noisy today, Xav answering his phone and not watching them, but Misty didn’t want anyone overhearing. Paul was easily embarrassed these days.
“A friend of mine wants to talk to you,” Paul said. “Think we can ditch our bodyguards?”
Misty’s alarm grew again. “What friend?”
“Don’t worry, he’s not from one of the prison gangs I had to sell my soul to.” Paul made a face. “I met him after I got out. He knows my parole officer, actually. Probably wants to talk to you about keeping me out of trouble.”
Misty let out her breath. “All right. Have him come by the store after lunch, and we can talk in my office. I’m sure Xav will let us have a private conversation.”
“He’s here now. Wants to talk right away. He’s busy.”
“Here?” Misty scanned the small restaurant. Xav glanced their way but looked unworried, still on his phone. “Where? Why doesn’t he come and have lunch with us?”
“He’s in the alley. He only has a few minutes.”
Misty stepped in front of Paul as he started for the restaurant’s rear door. “Oh, right. Because that doesn’t sound suspicious at all. Who is this guy? If he wants to talk to me so much, he can come to the store. It’s only three doors down.”
Paul looked suddenly afraid, which rang even more alarms. “Misty, please.”
“No,” Misty said firmly. “I’m not stupid enough to meet some guy I don’t know in a back alley, even in broad daylight. If he’s legit, he’ll come to my office.”
Paul opened his mouth to argue more, but Misty broke away from him. “Let’s go finish lunch. We’ll talk about him later.”
To her relief, Paul followed her instead of charging out after this person. Paul pulled out his phone and was texting, probably canceling the back-alley appointment.
Xav gave the two of them a sharp look when they returned to the table, but he didn’t ask. Paul finished his meal without speaking, and Misty picked at hers, wishing she could enjoy it.
Back at the store, Paul followed Misty into her office. “He’s legit, Misty,” he said. He looked angry now instead of afraid. “He’s on his way.”
“Fine, then.” Misty sat at her desk, turned to her computer, and pulled up her never-ending e-mail.
Paul stepped out and returned in a few minutes with a man who was on the short side, but broad-shouldered and buff, without an ounce of fat on him. In his thirties, Misty guessed as she looked up from her terminal. He had very short black hair and tatts that proclaimed he’d been in prison at least once.
“Hi,” the man said, stopping on the other side of her desk. His voice was gruff, a little bit like Graham’s, but he gave her a little smile and sounded apologetic. “I’m Ben. Sorry about that. Paul didn’t think you’d want me coming here or even talking to you in the restaurant. I’m so obviously an ex-con.”
Which meant Paul wasn’t supposed to be talking to him. A friend of his parole officer? Really?
“What can I do for you, Ben?” Misty asked.
“It’s not what you can do for me.” Ben leaned on his hands on the desk, which made every muscle press against his sun-worn skin. “It’s what you can do for your boyfriend, Graham McNeil.”
“What?” Misty came alert, not pretending to give Ben anything other than her full attention. The man looked fairly harmless—well, as harmless as a tough man with prison tatts could look—but his brown eyes held only friendliness. He certainly wasn’t a Fae, at least, Misty didn’t think so. Did they all look like the hiker?