on, Darren. I can sweep for you. I can’t write your paper.”
He grinned, an endearing, mischief-filled expression. “You sure? I hear you’re an expert.”
“Idiot.”
Darren released the broom this time and Emma took over the job. Judging by the condition under some of the tables along the far wall, the server had been doing a good deal of double-duty work while sweeping up.
She was bending to whisk the last of the refuse into the dustpan when someone behind her cleared his throat. Upside down, Emma looked awkwardly around her jeans-clad legs and saw Jimmy’s black shoes, the soft gray of his cuffed trousers.
Damn and blast.
She finished the task and straightened up. “Hello there.”
Her face felt hot, wisps of hair stuck to her forehead and cheeks. She almost certainly had a swipe of dust over her nose, while Jimmy looked cool and controlled in a black shirt and silver tie. One of them had grown up quite nicely. The other had remained an adolescent mess.
His eyebrows were drawn together, but his eyes held amusement. “I could swear I hired somebody else to do that.”
“A bit of sweeping is good for the soul now and again.”
“Where’s Darren?”
“Um…on break.”
“On break.” Jimmy thought that over. “He comes in at six. He needs a break before seven?”
“He needed a chance to finish up some reading for school. I’m ready for the evening—I thought I could help him out.”
“Emma, you can’t do everyone’s work around here.”
“Oh, I know. I haven’t the faintest clue about mixing drinks.” She offered him a cheeky grin. “Tiffany’s job is safe.”
He shook his head, chuckling. “I don’t think I knew what I was getting into when I hired you to work here.” With a smile, he headed back to his office.
Emma watched almost greedily. Even considering the limp that marred his once-athletic gait, he was a wondrously attractive man.
“Neither did I, Jimmy,” she murmured. “Neither did I.”
“NO SHIT, she gave you lunch?” Tommy pounded the heel of his palm against his forehead. “Why didn’t I go?”
Stomach still full, Harlow grinned. “You’re freakin’ stupid, maybe?”
“Maybe.” Tommy didn’t mind knowing he was as dumb as a brick. He was big enough not to need brains. “Man! Ham and cheese.”
“And milk.”
“Chocolate milk?” Ryan stood beside Harlow, shivering in the summer heat.
“Not chocolate. Just cold. In a glass.” Harlow hadn’t had milk in a glass since he’d left home. Or a decent bed. Or a good pair of shoes.
But if he was gonna feel invisible, if people were gonna look at him like he’d just murdered somebody—which, to be truthful, he had—Harlow figured he might as well do it with strangers. Tommy and Ry and his other friends on the street didn’t treat him like anything but what he was. A kid with nowhere to go.
“What I’m thinking,” he said, distracting himself, “is that we can play Emma Garrett for a real good deal. She all but freakin’ melted when I smiled at her. So I butter her up, put on some manners, she’ll be giving me steak before too long. Then I’ll bring in Ry, and he’ll look real pitiful and she’ll feed him. Then Tommy—you practice looking nice, okay? You scare the shit out of most people just standing there. Anyway, if we behave ourselves and keep out of Falcon’s way, we’ll be in fat city.”
Tommy shook his head. “Falcon pulled some of that shit on us, remember? Gave us money, then tried to push rehab. I’m not going that route no more. I’m thinking it’s too big a pain, just avoiding him.”
“Then you’re not hungry enough.” Harlow looked at Ryan. “What do you think? You up for some decent meals?”
“Yeah, I think it’s a good deal.” He smiled, a sweet little boy’s smile that reminded Harlow of his younger brother at home. “But what do I eat in the meantime?”
His eyes were big circles of brown with tiny black dots in the middle, his face white and dirty and sick-looking. He would need another hit in an hour or so. That would use up their last ten bucks.
Time for a couple hours of spanging. Hanging out near the financial district downtown, asking the suits for spare change, they always got enough for a burger or two each. Harlow put his arm around Ry’s shoulders and gave Tommy a punch on the shoulder. “Like always, I got the answer to that, my man. You just stick with me.”
CHAPTER FOUR
JIMMY HADN’T FAILED to notice that Emma was keeping to her promise, as far as their working together was concerned. She spoke and laughed with him if he came into the kitchen, said a friendly good-night when he walked her out to the cab he made sure was waiting when the club closed. Just as she’d predicted, they had developed a polite, uninvolved employer-employee relationship.
Too bad he had to work so damn hard to keep it that way.
Sunday night’s crowd was thin and not very hungry. Jimmy leaned back against the bar a little after midnight, listening to the music, thinking about closing up early. Then Emma stepped up beside him.
“This band is quite good.”
He nodded, trying not to take too deep a breath, needing to avoid getting caught by that scent she used. “There’s a recording contract in the near future. Another year, and they’ll be too busy to play here.”
“You had something to do with that, I think.”
“I made a phone call. The music did the rest.”
She glanced at him, moved a step closer. “You must know some very influential people in the recording business.”
Easing back, he shrugged. “I played drums for a year or so with a band that wasn’t very good. After we broke up, one of the guys went back to the family business…which happens to be producing and recording. I let him know when something sounds good, he comes out from L.A. and we have a few drinks together while he listens. Not a big deal.”
The band moved into a slow number, showcasing the piano’s heavy chords and the sax’s sweet wail. Two couples at a nearby table got up to dance. Emma stirred, swayed slightly to the beat.
No. Jimmy threw himself a mental punch. The last thing you want to do is dance. Get a drink, tell a joke. Just walk off.
But he found himself looking at her when she turned his way. “Want to dance, Emma?” As soon as the words were out, he cursed himself for a fool.
She stared at him with caution in her eyes. Damned if he did or if he didn’t at this point, Jimmy grinned. “No strings. Just a friendly employer-employee conference…out on the floor.”
“Will it bother your hip?”
He took her hand and pulled her with him onto the small parquet square in front of the stage. “No.” Only a minor lie. He could handle anything from Emma Garrett except pity. “Let’s dance.”
Graceful they weren’t. His stiff hip threw their rhythm off. After one brush with Emma’s knees and thighs and breasts, Jimmy kept air between their bodies. His reaction to her softness was an echo of urges twenty years past.
And yet…completely in the present. Emma at eighteen had been a tall, thin, pale-skinned girl with unruly red hair, totally different from anyone he’d ever known. That uniqueness alone had been fascinating.
Emma at thirty-eight was a full-bodied