Sergei Petrovyh.
She’d missed seeing him on the way in. Which said a lot about how distracted the new twist in her life had left her because just thinking his name made her flush. Actually looking at him made her and three-quarters of the female population too tongue-tied to talk. The other quarter mostly threw themselves at him and prayed to any god who would listen for a chance to hear that deep Russian accent of his up close and personal. Preferably in a situation where no clothes were involved.
Rather than butt into Dorothy’s rant with the chef in the kitchen, Evie waited near the register and straightened a stack of menus.
The balding man said something to Sergei, took two more steps backward, then turned and quick-stepped it toward the front door.
Her gaze drifted back to Sergei, though she covered her leisurely perusal by thumbing through an order pad near the register. Dark wavy hair to his shoulders, sharp facial features, one of those sexy-as-hell tightly cropped beards and a deliciously tall and fit body to go with it.
But it wasn’t just his looks that left women wanting. It was his power. A charisma burning behind his dark blue eyes and a graceful yet predatory edge behind every movement. In short, Sergei Petrovyh was the kind of man who could make any female forget her problems for at least a few precious moments with a single look.
Actually, if she was honest, Sergei could eradicate her problems completely. It was what he’d done for a long list of people in her neighborhood since he’d moved to New Orleans a little over a year ago—traded fixing untenable situations in exchange for obligations owed.
More to the point...he was a mobster.
A damned good-looking one, for sure, but a seriously dangerous man all the same.
Footsteps and muffled grumbling registered a few seconds before Dorothy’s droll voice cut through Evie’s ogling. “Girl, I’ve seen star-struck groupies act less obvious than you right now.”
Evie crushed the urge to flinch like a guilty schoolgirl and gave Sergei another thorough once-over just to prove to both of them she could. Seriously, the man was like a Greek god. Maybe it was all that olive skin. Or the fact that he moved like a panther. The custom-tailored suits he wore definitely made the fashion lover in her want to stretch out and purr.
So, yeah. She was old enough to ogle all she wanted and wasn’t about to apologize to anyone for doing it. Especially not after the day she’d had. “Nothing wrong with looking.” She faced her momma’s lifelong friend, leaned a hip onto the counter and braced one hand on the other. “And lookin’ at him is a damn sight better than tryin’ to figure out how I’m gonna pull off a major miracle between now and Monday.”
Dorothy tucked her order pad inside the pocket of her white apron. Her daddy had named her after Dorothy Dandridge purely because he’d had a crush on the actress when Dorothy had been born, but she’d grown into a woman as beautiful as her namesake. At sixty-eight years old, her skin was wrinkled and her hair a soft gray, but her near-black eyes were still sharp as ever. She eyeballed Evie the way only a mother could. “What kind of miracle are we talking about?”
“The kind where I find a job.”
“I thought you were goin’ for a supervisor position with the cleaning gig. What happened?”
Evie threw up her hands, then crossed her arms across her chest. “Damned if I know. Something about a security breach and my badge being used to access an attorney’s office after hours last weekend. Which is complete crap. Aside from me and Emerson going to the Farmers Market and the church potluck last Saturday, me and my badge were home all weekend. It had to be a mix-up.”
“You tell ’em that?”
“’Course I did. But they weren’t listening. Said they didn’t have a choice but to let me go with their security policy.”
Dorothy frowned and ambled behind Evie to the back countertop and the tub of clean silverware waiting to be rolled into napkins. She laid out the first napkin and got to work. “Not sure how that constitutes an emergency. I know you, Evie. You’re always bracin’ for a storm. Don’t tell me you don’t have savings.”
“All of that’s going to Emerson’s tuition.”
“I thought he was on a wait list. No point in scrimping now if you need it and have time to build it back.”
“He’s not on a wait list anymore.” Evie moved in beside her. She’d been rolling napkins at Dorothy’s place for as long as she could remember and had worked through countless crises with the simple task. “The dean called this week and said one of the kids is moving. I can apply for a scholarship, but I have to pony up the tuition to hold the spot while they process it.”
“How much is it?”
“$900.”
Dorothy’s head snapped her direction and her voice rose enough a good amount of the diner’s chatter ceased. “$900? Are you insane?”
“Dorothy!” she whisper-scolded with a pointed look in Emerson’s direction. “Emerson needs this. All his teachers say he needs this place. Say he’s bored to tears in public schools and that a Montessori school is perfect for a kid like him.”
“Pshht.” Dorothy shook her head. “That much money just to hold a spot, that school better pave him a gold path to heaven and wipe his ass, too.” She paused long enough to let a comfortable silence stretch between them, then aimed a sideways look at Evie. “So? What you gonna do?”
“Well, I was hopin’ maybe you could let me work for you a little while I look for something else.”
Dorothy sighed. A genuine one that said she didn’t like sharing the words that came next any more than Evie wanted to hear them. “Can’t do that, baby girl. These ladies I got now are quality and if I scrimp on their schedules, they’ll go find someplace else to work. Best I can do is give you a call if one of ’em calls in sick, but that ain’t gonna happen. They need the money too bad.”
Well, shoot.
So much for Plan B.
She placed a perfectly rolled set on top of Dorothy’s growing pile, turned, leaned her butt against the counter and crossed her arms on her chest. “This is such absolute crap.” Fear tried to push its way up from her chest, fueled by a healthy dose of long-ignored desperation and frustration. “I can’t blow this chance for Emerson. He needs it. He needs...” To smile. To play. To be able to be a kid and just enjoy himself a little while. “He needs something. If this school is gonna give it to him, then I’ll take up workin’ the streets if I have to.”
“Not gonna come to that,” Dorothy said with all the quiet confidence of a woman who’d already forged her way through raising her own kids. “Lord’s gonna give you what you need when you need it. He always does.”