Page 28 of Above ’N’ Beyond

A few people in the dining room had noticed her near face-plant. Heat shot to her neck. Turning into a total klutz whenever Jimmy was around was becoming an annoying habit. “Let me go,” she shot over her shoulder, and her face nearly collided with his. Warm breath washed over her face, and dammit…her nipples tightened.

He did as she ordered, and as she made a hasty exit to the dining room, Bella made the ultimate mistake of looking back at the bar. Frown lines had gathered on Jimmy’s broad forehead, and his lips pressed together tightly.

What’s his problem?

She didn’t know the man well enough to understand anything going on inside that handsome head. What she did know was that he really did have hidden talents.

An AC repairman. A barista. A man with big, warm hands with the power to send her pulse skyrocketing into the stratosphere, a physiological response to a man she didn’t want to have any responses to. Other than being her temporary bartender, that was where their relationship had to stay. As soon as her bartender came back, she’d fire Jimmy’s perfectly toned ass. For now, she had her hands full enough as it was with an overflowing restaurant.

The front door opened. Tony, Paola, and Marco walked in, bypassing the long line outside and garnering a steady flow of whispers as people mouthed Paola’s name. Paola tipped her chin as she always did when she wanted to speak privately with Bella.

Her heart sank. Private meetings with Paola were never a good sign. In fact, they were usually a really, really bad sign.

…

Bella’s lips pressed firmly together, and one of her hands was clenched into a tight fist. Jamie flipped up the hinged end of the bar, intending to follow and try to discreetly listen in.

“Jimmy!” With no tables free in the dining room, and every seat at the bar occupied, Tony and Marco stood at the other end of the bar. Tony held up two fingers. “Get that Pierazzuoli Chianti.”

So much for eavesdropping. He poured the wine, then set the glasses in front of Tony and Marco.

The redheaded guy Jamie had noticed at the bar the day before was back and signaled for another beer. Jamie took the empty, poured a refill into a clean glass, then brought it over.

Tony picked up his wine but didn’t drink. “Why don’t you pour yourself a glass?”

After all the bourbon he’d been forced to drink, Jamie wanted to keep a clear head but recognized this was an order, not a question. Tony was now his boss, his capo. A moment later, he had a glass in hand.

“Salute.” Tony took a long sip. “Here’s to you shaving. You look pretty enough to be on TV.”

Marco made a derisive, scoffing sound. “Or in a porn movie.” Over the rim of his glass, his gaze held unconcealed bitterness.

Smashing his fist into the man’s jaw for breaking into his apartment would have been sweet. Could it be this was over Bella? Or possibly he thought Jamie was a threat to his position as Tony’s lieutenant. Not that Jamie cared, except it might hinder the investigation. If the man became a problem, he’d deal with it. Any way necessary.

Not wanting to raise any suspicion, he took a small sip of wine. It was good. No wonder Tony sucked it down like water.

“What’s with Bella and Paola?” he asked in what he hoped was a casual tone. “Bella looked upset.”

Tony made a dismissive gesture. “Bistro business. Paola wants things her way. Bella doesn’t like it. They never agree on anything anymore.”

Anymore? So at one time, apparently, they had. The only question now was who was cooking the books. Paola, Bella, or both. According to Jenkins, someone was. He took a chance and pressed. “What don’t they agree on?”

“None of your damned business, that’s what.” Marco downed the rest of his wine in one gulp, then set it on the bar and flicked his finger at it.

Again resisting the urge to slam his fist into the man’s face, Jamie refilled the glass. “Just curious.”

“Don’t be,” Marco shot back. “And don’t butt into business that’s not yours.”

“Ease up,” Tony growled. “I gotta take a piss. Don’t kill each other while I’m gone.”

Keeping one eye on Marco, Jamie watched Tony head to the men’s room.

Marco cocked his head. “Where exactly did you say you were from?”

He met Marco’s cold, hard stare with one of his own. “I didn’t.”

Marco leaned on the bar and began stroking his chin. “And what were you in Sing Sing for?”

“Carrying a loaded pocket heater.” Good luck finding a hole in that story, douchebag. Even his arrest had been real, going down in front of several witnesses.