Page 4 of Fletch’s Protection

“Yes. What does that have to do with anything?”

“You’ll see.” I lead her across the street to the Mug Life coffee shop. She’s still frowning when I open the door.

Heads swivel our way. Murmurs go through the staff.

“Wait here,” I say as I guide her to a table at the back.

She’s still there, staring into space with tears in her eyes when I return with two coffees.

“You look like a cream and sugar girl.”

She snorts. Dabs her eyes with her wrists and says, “Why do you say that?”

“Am I wrong?”

“No,” she admits, taking the mug between both hands.

I sit down at the small table. The chairs are elementary-school size and she watches over the rim of her mug as I fold myself into the thing.

Silence falls between us. She drinks her coffee. The color is returning to her face bit by bit.

Part of the knot inside my chest loosens a few degrees.

After a while, Mari says, “I’ve been looking for another job for a while. There’s nothing around here that pays as well, and I can’t work nights.”

I take a breath. Here goes everything. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you. I’ve got a job offer for you.”

She almost drops her mug. “What did you just say?”

“I have a job offer.”

She gasps, her expression turning offended as she sits back. “I might have thrown myself on you back there, but I am NOT a sex worker.”

It’s my turn to look shocked. “Never said you were.”

“But—”

“I’m sorry, I should have been more explicit and not sexually explicit. The Mountain Men MC has a legitimate construction company. You’d be working for us as our office manager.”

Mari looks around, gripping the coffee mug tightly. After a long moment, she says, “I must have fallen into a rabbit hole. I’m so confused. Why are you offering me a job? You don’t even know me.”

“You’re competent. You know the trades.”

Her expression turns even more disbelieving. “And you know this from ten minutes of time with me?”

“It didn’t take ten minutes.”

My remark hangs between us.

“What’s your name?” she asks, her gaze sharpening as she looks at me.

“Fletch.”

“Mari,” she replies. “Fletch, there’s something you need to understand about me. My sister depends on me. She has type 1 diabetes. She’s in school. I pay the rent. Gas. Food. Everything. And I’m not even getting my last check.”

I take her mug out of her hands and set it on the table before she drops it. “I’m covering your last check. Don’t worry about that, and I want to show you the office.”

All eyes are on us now. Every other conversation in the place has stopped.