Hot and Bothered(2)

                Mark’s rough baritone cut clear through the murmur of cultured lunchtime conversation. “It’s not like I’m trying to come in here without a shirt or shoes.”

                Diners were turning to look now, pausing in their midday negotiations and machinations to watch the entertainment.

                The hostess responded quietly, probably asking Mark to leave, or warning him that she’d get the manager. She was just a kid, nineteen or twenty at most, and she looked panicky.

                “Where does it say I can’t wear whatever the hell I want?”

                Haven could see the hostess’s agitation. She pushed her seat back, moving slowly without drawing attention to herself. She wanted to cut this off before he got physical or threatening, before he got himself kicked out. She knew bar brawls were among his specialties, and though she’d never read about him hurting or even yelling at a woman, she didn’t want this to be his test case.

                Nearly tripping where the wide gray floor gave way to the carpeted entryway, she caught herself and stepped behind Mark with her dignity intact. “He’s with me.”

                Mark and the hostess both turned to look at Haven. The hostess’s eyes were hostile, Mark’s dark and dangerous.

                “We’ve met,” Haven told the hostess. “I was here a week ago Friday, too. You seated me.”

                “Yes,” said the hostess. “I remember you. Nevertheless, we ask that our patrons observe our—”

                “I missed Ryan when I was here Friday. Is he in today? I’d love to say hi to him.”

                Ryan Freehey was Charme’s owner, and everything about the hostess’s stance shifted from aggressive to submissive at the mention of his name. “He’s not in today, but I’d be happy to tell him you were here and asking for him.”

                “Thank you. I appreciate that. Tell him Haven Hoyt says hi.”

                Haven turned to Mark. Why hadn’t she insisted on meeting him in her office? Well, she’d have to make the best of it. She stuck out her hand. “Haven Hoyt.”

                His eyes narrowed.

                She guessed if you were Mark Webster, dressed in beatup clothes and girded for battle, she might not be a sight for sore eyes, but she was pretty damn proud of today’s outfit—high-waisted wrap skirt with skinny belt, cute cropped sweater, print blouse and beige espadrille-style shoes stacked so high she felt downright precarious. Her hair was piled up on her head, and she’d checked her makeup before she left the office. She looked good.

                Plus she’d just saved his butt.

                So why was he staring at her as though she was a bug on his dinner plate?

                She dropped her hand, because he obviously wasn’t going to shake it.

                “Wait,” said the hostess. “You’re—” Her gaze journeyed over Mark, assessing him. Her sour expression summed up how far Mark had fallen from his prettier days, but the hostess gamely said, “I love ‘Twice As Nice’!”

                “You weren’t even born when—”

                Haven intervened swiftly. “It’s a great song, isn’t it?” she gushed. “A huge hit!”

                She used his arm to swivel him away from the hostess stand and led the way to their table.