Ozzie’s voice breaks into my thoughts, cutting them short. “Thibault says you two talked today. About the job.”

The last bite of lobster gets stuck in my throat. I have to guzzle the rest of my wine to move it along.

“Yeah,” I say, my voice strained. I’m sweating now. Dammit again. Too nervous to tell him straight off the bat that I’m not interested.

Ozzie fills my glass with more dark red wine. I’m dizzy, watching the liquid pour in. Maybe if I drink more, it’ll be easier to turn him down. To never see him again. Ugh. Who am I trying to kid? I know that it’ll never be easy to do that.

“He says you’re concerned about your personal safety.”

I nod. This is an easy one. Anyone would be concerned in my shoes. That’s totally normal. “Yep. Very. I don’t wanna die before I’m at least eighty if I can help it. Especially not with bullets involved.”

He drinks his wine and watches me over his glass.

“What?” I’m getting paranoid again. “Do I have something on my face?”

He reaches over with a napkin. “Just some butter on your chin.” He swipes at me before I can move away. Even though there was a piece of cloth between his hand and my face, I can still feel the heat there. How pitiful am I?

A tiny bit of outrage takes over. It might be the wine talking. “Hey! You’re not supposed to do that.”

“Do what?” he asks.

“Say there’s something on my face.” I wipe at my chin several times, making it burn in the process. How embarrassing. How long have I been sitting here with a shiny chin? What a weirdo.

He shrugs. “Okay.”

“Okay what?” His unquestioning acquiescence bugs me. I don’t think it’s a normal reaction for him. Is he mocking me?

“Okay, I won’t tell you when you have something like rice on your face.”

“Rice too?!” Ack! I wipe my entire lower jaw, praying the grain isn’t any higher. What? Am I throwing food into my eyebrows now too?

He’s laughing.

“You’re an idiot.” I throw my napkin at him. Then the lobster catches my eye, and I decide I’d rather be eating it than worrying about a piece of rice on my lip. If I’m going to be a weirdo around him, then so be it. It’s not like he’s ever going to come over here again, and that lobster is too damn good to go to waste.

He goes back to eating his meal, this time smiling.

I revel in the corn muffins that I discover in another box. So sweet. So . . . corny.

“Listen,” he says a couple minutes later, “I know I was pretty adamant before that I didn’t want you on board, but I’ve changed my mind. I want you to come to work for us.” He pauses. “I can guarantee your safety.”

“Why me? And why the change of heart?” I take a bite of my muffin and chew while I watch him, searching his face for any deception. I’m immediately distracted, though, when a new taste hits my tongue. My god, someone put chives in these things. Some genius! Wow. I chew twice as fast, looking forward to my next bite. I might also be humming a little.

“I checked out your work online. Made some inquiries, background checks and so forth. And after talking to Thibault, whose opinion I trust more than anyone’s, I think he’s right. You’d be good for the team. I’d have to put you on a probationary period, but it shouldn’t be a problem. I think you could hack it.”

My half-eaten muffin falls from my hand and lands with a clank on my fork and plate. “Hack it?” A few crumbs fly from my mouth, necessitating a quick chewing and a swallow before I can finish. “Of course I could hack it. The question is whether I want to hack it.” There are bits of cornmeal all around the inside of my mouth. I try not to look like a total psycho corralling all of them together with my tongue.

“Well, you’d need some training first. It’s not like you could just step out tomorrow and be ready, but you could get there.” He looks me up and down, leaning over to see my bottom half under the table.

I lean back and put my hands in my lap, suddenly nervous. “What are you looking at?”

“Your physique.”

“What’s my physique have to do with anything?” I can feel my ears starting to burn. I reach up and smooth my hair down, then immediately stop. He’s not assessing my hairdo, for God’s sake. What’s wrong with me? When did I become so self-conscious?

“Everyone on the team is job ready, always. We don’t take any slackers.”

I wipe my hands together over my plate to get the crumbs off me. “And job ready means . . .?”

“Means you get trained by Dev, just like the rest of us.”

“Because sitting in a car taking pictures is so physically demanding.” I don’t admit to him that it is actually difficult to stand all day long taking pictures of people you sometimes want to slap. I don’t want him to think I’m soft.

“You won’t be just sitting in a car.” He puts his fork down, wipes his face, and then drops his napkin on the table. “The job comes with full benefits: insurance, 401k, home security, company car, all the equipment you’ll need, and references if you want to do side work.”

I swallow with difficulty. He’s already said the magic word, but he’s not done.

“We pay for a complete physical once a year, three weeks of vacation, paid travel when it’s a job out of the area, travel expense account, and day care for kids.”

“What about dogs?”

He lifts an eyebrow. “We can negotiate.”

I chew my lip as I contemplate the offer. It’s really kind of silly to stall like this because I already know what I’m going to say.

“So, what do you think?” he prompts. “You want to come work with us at Bourbon Street Boys Security?”

I lift my glass toward him and smile. “You had me at insurance.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

By the time dinner and dessert are over, I’ve consumed about two too many glasses of wine. When I stand, the room tilts. Luckily, Ozzie’s at the sink, rinsing off dishes, so he doesn’t catch me being a drunken lush.

“I’m just going to go freshen up,” I say, trying like hell to walk a straight line to the bathroom. Felix is at my heels, making sure to sneak in past the door before I can shut him out.

I stare at my reflection in the mirror and lean my hands on the counter. “Get. Your shit. Together, May Wexler.” I splash some water on my face and then freak when I see my mascara making a black trail down my cheek. “Ack! Stop that!”

Felix whines, putting his feet on my leg.

There’s a tapping at the door. “You okay in there?”

Oh my god! Oh my god! He thinks I need a toilet rescue!

“I’m fine!” I say with all the fake and casual cheer I can muster. “Couldn’t be finer, actually!” Shut up! Shut up! Shut up, idiot! “Be right out!”

Felix barks. I bend down and pet his tiny head, ears, and neck. He goes into a happy trance as I try to get my brain back online. I need to give myself a pep talk before I leave the bathroom and face Ozzie again.

“Breathe, May. Just breathe. He’s your employer now, so you have to stop thinking about dropping your panties every time you look at him. It’ll make stakeouts really awkward.”

I stand up in a hurry, whispering, “Stakeouts?” I think it’s a whisper, anyway. “Will we be doing stakeouts together?”

I pee really quickly, wash my hands, and remove any remaining mascara from my face before leaving the bathroom. I find Ozzie in the living room, looking at some family photos I took before my grandmother died.

“Will I be doing stakeouts?” I ask.

“Maybe.”

“Cool. With whom?” I hope to impress him with my awesome command of the English language. Even though the room is spinning, I can still manage to keep my subjects and objects straight. Boom. Take that, Grammar Girl. Try not to envy me too much.