The Lottery Winner. Emilie Rose
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envelope containing the rejected forms. “I tried to get the new waitress to fill out her employment forms.”
He’d left his office early, bringing with him the necessary paperwork, and he’d waited out front, planning to corner Jessie before the restaurant opened and insist she complete the sheets. But Miri had spotted him and run interference, insisting that if he couldn’t stop hounding Jessie then he needed to go home.
He couldn’t figure out why his aunt was so determined to protect the waitress. So here he was again—stuck on a bar stool for an entire night watching the brunette’s suspicious behavior and learning nothing.
“What do you think of your new coworker?” he asked the sixty-something waitress who’d been with Miri since the day she’d opened Fisherman’s Widow.
“Jessie? What’s not to like? She hustles. I don’t have to cover her tables. She runs my stuff when I get behind before I even have a chance to ask. And she has the patience of a saint training the gal, who is not the brightest bulb in the box, if you catch my drift.”
He’d come to the same conclusion about the new trainee. But he wasn’t interested in her. “Where did Jessie say she’s from?”
Eyes narrowed beneath Sue’s penciled brows. “She didn’t say. In case you missed it, that flood of cruise ship passengers ran us off our feet tonight. No time for chitchat. I’d tell you to ask Jessie yourself, but you need to respect Miri’s wishes and quit trying to chat up the new employee, Logan.”
“I’m not interested in her that way.” He debated telling Sue that Jessie hadn’t gone for the required drug test or filled out the employee paperwork. The newest hire had done both. But dissing one employee to another was undoubtedly a violation of some kind. “Just keep an eye on her.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, we’ve been too busy for me to mind anybody’s business except my own. You should do the same,” Sue delivered then sailed out the front door.
He lifted the lid of the box. Key lime pie. One of his favorites. But eating it would have to wait. Jessie’s trainee and the other waitress had left before Sue. That meant Jessie and Logan were the only ones left in the public area of the building. He had to act fast if he wanted to get what he needed from Jessie before his aunt interfered again.
He grabbed the envelope and headed for the outside dining area, where Jessie was boxing the last of the condiments to bring inside for the night.
She glanced up when he pushed the door open and stilled. Brown eyes tracked his progress across the planks with something akin to dread.
He held out the manila envelope and a pen. “You haven’t filled out your paperwork. You can’t be employed here without filling out an I-9 and a W-4.”
She ignored the offered items. Her breasts rose and fell on three breaths. Something he shouldn’t be noticing. “That’s between Miri and me.”
“I’m her accountant. I’m required by law to have this information on all employees. I need it for payroll.”
She blinked thick lashes. Slowly. As if buying time. “I’m not on her payroll.”
That knocked him back a step. “What does that mean?”
“I work for tips.”
“You’re busting your tail for eight hours a night with no expectation of a paycheck? What are you after? Cash under the table?”
His sarcasm turned down the corners of her mouth. It wasn’t until she pressed her lips together that he realized how full they were. “No. Just tips.”
“That’s ridiculous. It’s not even close to minimum wage.”
“I’m a friend helping a friend. Is that so hard to believe?”
His suspicion multiplied tenfold. “Why?”
“Why help Miri?”
He nodded. And waited. And waited.
“She’s a very nice person. And she’s hard to say no to.”
Good answer, but she’d taken too long to come up with it for it to be genuine—a clue he’d been too dense to notice when his wife had started hiding things from him. “What are you getting out of it?”
“I told you.”
“Tips are taxable income. I still need your information.”
“My accountant will deal with it in April.”
She had to be another one of Miri’s projects. He dropped the pen and papers on a nearby table and caught her wrists. Ignoring her gasp, he rolled her hands thumbs out to examine her inner forearms. No ugly track marks marred the ivory skin that clearly showed undamaged blue veins beneath the surface.
And then her warmth leached into his palms and up his arms. It spread across his shoulders then sank through his chest and gathered into a ball of heat in his gut. Desire? No way. Then he noticed her calluses. Not heavy ones, but Jessie definitely used her hands on a daily basis.
She yanked free and wiped her palms on her hips as if he’d dirtied her. “What are you doing?”
With effort, he hacked through the haze that had befuddled his brain. “Looking for signs that you use.”
“Use?” Her brow pleated. A beat of silence passed. “Drugs?”
Her wide eyes and shocked tone didn’t fool him. “It wouldn’t be the first time Miri helped someone get clean. They usually stay at her house, and it usually backfires. I end up having to help her evict them.”
“I’m not staying with her. And I don’t and never have used drugs.”
“Then why are you avoiding the drug test and paperwork? What are you hiding?”
Her cheeks flushed. She averted her face, but he didn’t believe for one moment she was that fascinated by the dark waterfront. “I told you. I’m just a friend with time on my hands.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Worried eyes focused on him. “If Miri hires known drug users, then why are you so insistent on me taking the test? Wouldn’t it be a moot point?”
He bit back a curse. She was a wily one. Then the piped-in music went silent, a signal that the kitchen had been cleaned to his aunt’s exacting expectations and it was time to lock up. He gritted his teeth. He’d learned nothing about Jessie’s motives or agenda. Sure enough, the kitchen door swung open and Miri walked out. She scanned the empty dining room, spotted them outside and headed in their direction with the kind of scowl he knew boded ill—for him. She plowed open the back door with a flat palm.
“Sue was supposed to send you home,” she told him.
“I’m waiting for you to lock up.”
“Since when do you hang around until I close?” Her gaze fell on the envelope, and her expression grew even fiercer. Miri had been a great substitute mom. He’d rarely seen her lose her temper, but when she did, it was a sight to behold. From a distance.
“Logan, butt out of my business.”
“I’m covering you—legally.”
“We’re not breaking any laws. But you’re tempting me to take my iron skillet to your head. Now go home before I ban you from my restaurant.” Her scowl could curdle milk. “You ready, Jessie?”
“Yes. I’ll, um...I’ll set these in the cooler on my way out.” Jessie ducked her head, grabbed the box of condiments and swept past him, her long dark braid swinging like a pendulum above her hips. Nice hips. Curved, but not round.
He shouldn’t be noticing.
Miri shot him one last warning glare then followed her. When Jessie returned from the kitchen, Miri rested a hand on her shoulder and leaned closer. “Let me get rid of him