The Bucket List

6.2 The Dealer

Nicholai's well-tailored frame manages to take up most of the doorway. Despite the fact that it's not yet ten in the morning, he looks fresh off a magazine cover, eyes scorching and hair slicked back.

We stand there, holding vigil at opposite ends of the bar, gazing at one another with a mixture of surprise, suspicion, and confusion. It takes several moments for the pain in my hip to register.

At least the hangover is gone. Who knew pain and blackmail was such an effective hangover cure?

Nicholai clears his throat. "Amara."

A little thrill runs through me at the name—my name in his mouth. I shake it off. "This is getting out of hand. Do you want a key to the place?"

"That would be convenient, yes."

"Yeah. No. That was a joke." I glare at him. "Are you going to keep showing up unannounced?"

"I was in the neighborhood," he offers lamely, approaching the bar at a steady, even pace. As if he expects me to bolt.

I roll my eyes. "Liar."

"We need to talk. And I thought I might find you here."

"At this hour? You're more likely to find me in bed." I slam the register drawer. Angry at myself. Angry at Hot Rod. Angry at him.

"And yet." He spreads his hands. "Here you are."

"What do you want?" Best to keep the conversation short and sweet.

"Who was that man?"

"What man?"

"Amara."

"What?" Suddenly, my name sounds far less charming—cheap, dirty. The name of a foolish girl who's made several foolish decisions in her lifetime...foolish decisions that have landed her in a lake of debt that will surely drown her.

Rather than press the issue, Nicholai examines the room with a slow, thoughtful eye. Irate, I grab a bottle of disinfectant near my feet and spritz the counter, determined to do something useful. For once.

Ugh. Self-deprecation is not a good look. The observation only serves to further my dark mood.

"Who is Pete?"

I glance up at the question, halting my furious spritzing. "What?"

"Pete's Seaside Dive." He stares over my head, at an old photograph of three men buckling beneath the weight of a swordfish, foolish grins on their faces. "Who is he? The owner of this establishment?"

"No," I say curtly. I don't much feel like playful banter. If I can't get Hot Rod that money...if he comes back, seeking collateral...

Will Gabby and TJ pay the price for my mistakes?

"That man..." Nicholai starts again, apparently unsatisfied by my short, unhelpful answers.

"Drop it."

"No."

We glare at each other. He shoves his hands in his pockets, as if he has all the time in the world. As if my bad temper isn't clouding up his otherwise sunny morning.

My eyebrows pinch together. "Why do you want to know?"

"I like to ensure the safety of my staff."

"That's it?"

I'm not buying it. He sought me out at this ungodly hour for a reason, and keeping tabs on his staff isn't one of them. If that was the truth of it, he has other resources at his disposal, men who can trail me on his behalf.