Their breakfast and a twenty percent tip would have been more than covered by the lesser bill. A moment later, Debbie came by to pick up the book. “Change?”
“No, thank you. Keep it. You know, for that nice apartment of yours,” Shane said with a smile and a wink that would most likely be the most charming Debbie would see all day. Maybe all week.
Debbie laughed and rolled her eyes, probably imagining an extra four or five bucks hidden behind the vinyl cover, then she headed to tend to her other guests.
“So you weren’t just taking a random poll?”
“I don’t do anything randomly,” Shane said with a lift of his brow. He slid out of the booth, stealing a glance over his shoulder. “Let’s go.”
“But…” Crickitt looked down at the scattered papers.
“Hurry,” Shane whispered, helping her fill the manila folder as swiftly as if they were fleeing the scene of a crime. Crickitt shoved the folder and pen into her canvas bag as Shane grasped her free hand and towed her to the door. As they walked through it, Crickitt turned to catch a glimpse of Debbie standing statue still in the center of the restaurant, her hand pressed to her chest as she stared at the “tip” Shane left her.
“Come on.” He tugged her to the limo parked out front. The second they were outside Crickitt registered Shane’s long fingers wrapped around hers. Warmth between their palms sizzled her nerve endings. She squeezed his fingers, savoring the opportunity to be close to him, the excuse to touch him. Shane spared her a glance as they descended on the limo, slowing his frantic pace long enough to flash her a wry half smile. Was he thinking the same thing?
The driver poked his head out the driver’s side door, but Shane waved him off. “I got it, Thomas.”
He held on to Crickitt’s hand until she was safely inside, then climbed in and took the seat facing hers. Shane rapped on the privacy glass and Thomas pulled into the light traffic.
At first, Shane looked like a kid who dropped off a tire swing into an ice-cold lake. But as the restaurant grew farther away, his grin emerged. Lifting thick eyebrows in a show of relief, he said, “That was close.”
“She would have thanked you if you hung around,” Crickitt said, barely repressing a chuckle. “I saw her face, she was—”
“No, don’t tell me.” Shane held up a hand. “The goal is not to be thanked.”
“There’s a goal? Is this, like, a game?”
“Sort of. Ever heard of Dine and Dash, where you go out to eat and run out without paying your tab?”
“No,” Crickitt said, appalled. “Do people do that?”
Shane offered a somber smile. “My mom was a waitress when she met my dad, happened to her a few times. Anyway, I like to do what I call Dine and Cash, where you run out after paying someone’s rent.”
“Much better.”
He shrugged, but his smile was genuine.
What Shane had done for a perfect stranger was beyond sweet, it was downright admirable. But the seed of doubt that had recently taken root in the back of her mind had begun to flower. She had to know, had to be sure he hadn’t hired her only so he could tick off a box under the Charitable Giving section of his tax forms.
“Do you only do it for waitresses?” Crickitt asked before she could rethink it.
Shane cocked his head. “Sorry?”
She swallowed. Cleared her throat. “Is that why you helped me?”
“No.” He answered immediately, the look on his face intently serious. “And by the way, I’m the one who needed help, not the other way around.”
She allowed herself a shaky smile at the idea of being needed. Maybe because she’d been overlooked for so long.
He leaned his elbows on his knees and met her eye. “I hired you because you’re qualified. You’re paid well because you deserve it. Never let anyone tell you differently.”
She looked at her lap, unable to hold his unflinching gaze. “I believe you.”
“Good.” He reached forward to pat her hand before settling back into his seat.
She lifted her head. “That was pretty impressive, by the way.”
“Well, you’re lucky,” he said, lowering one eyelid into a wink that sent her pulse racing. “I only do that to impress my new assistants.”
Chapter 9
Their morning meeting was with a man in his late forties launching a tattoo shop. And if Crickitt thought Shane was too polished to talk to a goateed, bald, bare-chested man in a leather biker vest, he proved her wrong in the space of a few minutes.