Secrets Whispered from the Sea - Emma St. Clair Page 0,41

in. I hated the idea.

The door chimed just as I sat down. When I saw who came through the door, I knocked over my chai. Creamy brown liquid and ice cubes scattered all over the table, the floor, and into my purse.

“Alec,” I said through gritted teeth, pressing a wad of napkins to the lake of chai on the table. “How lovely to see you.”

He muttered something that I couldn’t make out under his breath, eyeing the mess.

“Oh!” Casey leaned over the counter, examining the mess. When her eyes landed on Alec, they shifted to something more excited. Her voice grew brighter, overeager. “Morning, Alec. Let me grab the mop.”

I did my best to sweep the liquid from the table into my empty cup. To my surprise, when Casey rounded the corner with the mop, Alec took it from her.

“You don’t need to—” she tried to protest, but he waved her off.

“I’ve got this, Casey.”

She gave him an awestruck expression, one that told me she only saw his good looks and not the evil underneath. “I’ll get you another chai right away,” Casey said to me.

“Put it on my tab, Case.”

So, he was on not just a first-name basis but a nickname basis with the barista. Was he a regular customer? Or something more? Casey totally had stars in her eyes for him. She was very pretty, now that I was thinking about it.

Why was I thinking about it?

“It’s my mess,” I said, trying to herd ice from the table back into my cup. “I should clean it up and pay for it.”

“I won’t argue that it’s your mess,” Alec said. “But don’t worry about it. I have to ask—are you always like this, or is it just me?”

Now, there was a loaded question. “Sorry. I just wasn’t expecting to see the devil walk through the door.”

He paused his mopping, leaning his muscular forearms on the wooden handle. To my surprise, the tiniest hint of a smile lifted the corner of his full mouth.

Muscular forearms? Full mouth? Nope. No. No way. Shut that down immediately, Clem.

Still leaning on the mop, still slightly smirking, he asked, “Didn’t Jackson tell you I was coming?”

My hand froze. One last piece of ice clattered into my cup as I looked up to meet Alec’s eyes.

“He didn’t tell me who I was meeting.” I wondered now if that had been on purpose. Did Jackson already get wind of the fact that there was no love lost between me and the jerk with the nice forearms and luscious mouth.

“Whom.”

“What?” I blinked at Alec, wondering what I missed while I was getting lost in my thoughts about his unfortunate good looks.

“He didn’t tell you whom you were meeting. It’s an indirect object. Whom, not who.”

I stood up to my full height. Which didn’t even come close to his. But I knew he could feel the tension and anger radiating off my body. I was like one of those nuclear reactors in movies that’s becoming unstable.

“Are you seriously correcting my punctuation right now?”

“More your grammar.”

I wanted to scream. The idea of tossing the contents of the cup in Alec’s face crossed my mind. I felt proud of my level of self-control, though I swear I heard the plastic crack in my grip.

“Grammar aside, I’d like to help. As I said before.”

“And as I said before, you’ve done enough. I don’t need help.”

“From where I’m standing, it seems like you do need help. Mine.”

The arrogance of this man. I tossed the cup and wad of napkins in the trash rather than at his face, which seemed like the high road, all things considered. When I started for the door, Alec called after me.

“Where are you going? Let’s sit down and talk.”

As though sensing the impending explosion, Casey emerged with my newly made chai. “Here’s a fresh drink for you. Alec, yours is coming right up,” she practically purred.

“Keep it,” I said, waving her off. It was then I remembered the painting. I pushed past Alec and his admirer or girlfriend, Casey, and plucked the painting right off the wall.

“Have a good day. Or don’t. I don’t care.”

Before I could reach the door, Alec spoke up. As seemed to be his habit. “Are you seriously stealing that painting?”

I spun around. “I bought it. But thanks for assuming that I’m terrible at grammar and a thief.”

“You bought it?”

The incredulity in his tone made me wish I had thrown the cup at him. “Yes. I bought this. I’m not sure if you