The Mercenary Next Door (Rogues and Rescuers #2) - Lucy Leroux Page 0,37
said, gesturing to the canelé. “I’m going to have to have at least a dozen more.”
“Sure thing.” Laila pulled out a box, then began packing it with the pastries. She was hyperaware that the customer watched her every move, his eyes running up and down her figure.
Her job’s dress code dictated she wear the store’s branded shirt with dark pants, but since she worked for the bakery at the front of the store, her manager had encouraged her to wear skirts when he hired her. She’d ignored the suggestion for years, but after moving in with Rosalie on campus, she’d taken to dressing a touch more femininely.
Since it was cold, she was wearing tights with her short skirt, which she paired with vintage Doc Marten boots. The last wasn’t girly, but they didn’t hurt her feet after hours behind the counter.
“You don’t remember me, do you?”
Laila’s brow creased as she snuck a peek at the man from under her lashes.
He held out his hand, but when she merely handed him the box and moved to the register, he stepped back and bowed. “Joseph Dubey, at your service.”
“Have we met?” she asked, ringing him up.
“No, but not for lack of trying on my part. You never stay long at our parties. Not that I blame you—it would kind of defeat the purpose of the Night Witches.”
“Oh, you’re that Joseph Dubey.” Joseph, or Joe, as his brothers called him, was the new president of the Alpha Omega fraternity. He was the rich-as-sin, politically connected son of some political bigwig. No doubt he would follow in his father’s footsteps.
I’m probably looking at a future congressman. It did not make her see him any more favorably.
Several of the Night Witches had reported that, under Joseph’s leadership, the atmosphere of Alpha and Omega had changed. The brothers now rolled out the red carpet for them—literally the first time. It was a stunt that had gotten them written up in the school paper. Laila had been suspicious of the new fraternity president ever since.
“I’ve seen you at Club Casim, too,” Joseph said. “You wouldn’t dance with me.”
“Oh,” Laila said. “Sorry. I don’t remember that.”
Joseph’s laugh was easy, a small bonus in his favor. “That’s all right. I was in good company. You shot down every guy who asked you to dance—I saw you do it. You preferred to dance on stage with your friend.”
Heat filled her cheeks. “Yeah, well, I just go for fun. I’m not looking to meet anyone.”
Or get groped.
The charming megawatt grin dimmed theatrically. “That’s too bad because I’d love to take you to dinner sometime.”
Laila cocked her head as she checked his expression. He appeared completely serious.
“I know an excellent French restaurant downtown,” he continued. “Or any other country if you’d rather branch out. There’s a great little Italian place not far from it that does authentic Venetian tapas.”
“Venice has tapas?” That was news.
Joseph’s eyes flared. “They do! I know people only think of Spain when they hear tapas but Italy, Venice in particular, has its own tradition.”
The entire conversation had taken a surreal tinge. Against her better judgment, Joseph, the big man on campus, was succeeding in intriguing her. If someone had asked her the day before—even the hour before—she would have said it wasn’t possible.
It also wasn’t possible that a guy like Joseph would want someone like her. Yes, she could look cute if she put the effort in, but she wasn’t exotic or busty like the girls who frequented the Alpha Omega parties.
Don’t get carried away. He’s talking about food. Food was a hook for everyone.
“Thank you, but no. I meant it. I’m not interested in meeting anyone.”
Joseph seemed unfazed. “Are you seeing someone?”
Mason’s face flashed through her head. “No.”
Joseph leaned in. “Bad break-up?”
“Also no.” There would have to have been a real relationship first.
But the words vibrated, too loaded with emotion. Even a superficial frat boy could pick up on it.
Joseph tsked in commiseration. “So, it’s complicated. Been there.” He sighed, glancing at the massive watch on his wrist. “I have to get back to the house, but at least I’m not leaving empty-handed.”
He lifted the box, then made a show of smelling them. “I may not be leaving with your phone number, but at least I have these.” He paused to wink at her. “I’m not leaving with your phone number, am I?”
“Again, no,” she said, but she couldn’t help but laugh this time. He was a practiced flirt.