An odd, unfamiliar sensation was prickling at his spine. Not quite impatience, not quite discomfort. Literally shrugging it off, Dominic rather curtly addressed her original observation. “Maybe it’s personal.”
She cocked her head.
He could be at home right now with a glass of lager, his homicidal cat, and no constantly talking people. “Maybe Jay and Mabel are skating around an always-inadvisable workplace relationship,” he clarified. “According to my sister and the book she’s currently reading and for some reason thinks I need a daily briefing on, squabbling like enraged parakeets is an early sign of attraction.”
“In the nonfictional world, it might be easier to skip the verbal pigtail-pulling and just ask someone out for a drink.”
They finished their flagons, and he scribbled down a few more ingredients.
Cranberry juice.
White chocolate.
Raising a hand, he asked the barista for a third round.
A spark of wicked humor suddenly lit up the green in Sylvie’s eyes. She grinned. “Jay and Mabs—God help the entire planet. But despite the lessons of literature, courtesy of this book I’m privately convinced you’re reading yourself, that’s a negative on pissing me off because they secretly want to bang. Mabel’s asexual and already in a committed relationship, and Jay has a girlfriend.” After a beat, her brows compressed. “I think. I just realized he hasn’t mentioned her for a couple of weeks. He’s still writing poetry, though, so I assume they’re still together.”
Intense gloom invaded that sentence.
“Poetry?”
“He writes poems. He reads them aloud for feedback. It’s a deeply distressing subject for me. I don’t want to talk about it.”
A small smile tugged. It felt like the first minuscule release of tension all day. “You said you were having an actual staffing problem.”
“Yeah.” All traces of smiles on Sylvie’s part fell away. “My intern, Penny. She’s really struggling with the work. I’ve had to move her to four different stations so far, and nothing seems to be clicking. It’s not an issue of effort—she is trying.” On a very dry note, she added, “Every mistake is made with an impressive level of enthusiasm.”
“So she’s not suited to the job.”
“But she wants to be.” Sylvie caught her lower lip between her teeth. He’d been right about Pet’s silhouette drawing falling short on the full curve of her mouth. “And I get the feeling there’s something going on outside of work. She’s frequently distracted, and a couple of times she’s taken a phone call and seemed odd afterward. Jay’s over it and wants to let her go, but if the rest of her life is falling apart, I don’t want her to be unemployed as well.”
His answering grunt was neither agreement nor immediate dismissal. “I’ve got an employee myself with extenuating circumstances that we’ll do our best to accommodate.”
“You see.” Sylvie leaned forward, brightening. Her right hand tried to twitch in his direction again. She sat on it. “You get it.”
That was probably the most genuine smile she’d ever directed at him.
“In my case, the employee in question has a lot of talent when he’s in the right mind to access it, and is very definitely in the right field,” he said warningly, and Sylvie blew out a breath. “Do you think your employee might be having family issues?”
She shook her head. “She doesn’t have any family. It came up at her interview. Her parents have passed, no brothers or sisters, no eccentric aunts, no drunk uncles. Not even a cat.”
Despite the light, lilting addition at the end, a strange note underlaid Sylvie’s response.
It was in her eyes, too. Pain. A deep well of emotions that coalesced into, simply, pain.
“I see,” Dominic said.
She blinked a few times, and a self-conscious stiffness came into her posture.
Two more portions of Midnight Elixir were delivered to their bit of floor. They both knocked them back like huge shots of tequila.
Simultaneously decided to order another.
“If your employee is wise enough to live a cat-less existence,” he said at last, while they waited for the next round, “it may be worth keeping her on.”
He pulled back his sleeve and revealed a long, angry scratch slicing through the hair on his forearm.
Sylvie’s expression cleared of shadows as concern yanked her back to the present. This time, she seized hold of his arm without hesitation, her fingers wrapping gently about his wrist as she pulled it into her lap. His own fingers curled into a light fist. “Oh my God. What kind of pet do you have?” she asked, horrified. “A Bengal tiger?”
“Similar bulk, worse temperament. A tabby menace, inherited from a relative whose affection for me has since been called into question.”
“I hope you put something on this; it’s really nasty. What provoked that?”
“The vet suggested I cut his dry food allotment by a quarter cup. Humphrey suggested I get sepsis.”
Her fingertips were absently stroking the back of his hand, another glide along his nerve pathways.
The barista approached with two more flagons of Midnight Elixir, and Sylvie released him to grab the drinks.
Her cheeks were flushed again.
She took a hasty gulp from her cup. “Definitely cranberry,” she said aloud.
“Agreed.” His own mouthful was a more intense throat-burn than the last glass. The barista returned behind the counter, and he studied the array of treats in the glass cabinet. They ran a gamut from children’s party fare to wouldn’t-even-feed-it-to-his-hellcat. “Is the owner of this place really ripping off your menu?”
“Yes, and with the exception of this . . .” Sylvie waved her flagon at him. Her voice was slightly slurred. She really was pink in the face. “. . . this fantastic concoction, he doesn’t even have the decency to plagiarize well. It’s like a counterfeit purse, all cheap plastic and bad stitching. And freaky clowns.”
“Pretty shit of him.” The tension was draining out of his muscles, and his headache had eased somewhat as his body relaxed.
“I know,” Sylvie agreed fervently. She leaned forward and pointed at him. Having stuck her finger in his face, she didn’t seem to know what to do with it.
Dominic considered the problem. “I should punch him.”
She looked absolutely thrilled. “Could you?”
“Of course I could,” he said, vaguely offended. He held up a hand. Fisted it. “I have hands.” He turned his wrist to examine his fist from multiple angles. It was very satisfactory. “Big ones.”
“Yes, you do.” In the dim light, Sylvie’s wide eyes looked more black than hazel. “Huge. I’ve noticed that before.” The last words dropped, low and husky.
Sexy.
“Have you?” Deep. Gravelly.
She nodded solemnly and put her fingers back over his, and they studied the result.
“Your hand is quite small,” he had to point out.
Her sigh was all sad resignation. “It is.” Her lower lip was pink and damp. She sank her teeth into it again. “I’m sorry about that.”
His view of anything farther than her head was beginning to haze. Dominic’s brain was currently fixed on one subject, but a spike of suspicion penetrated.