“Oh.” I need her to like me, or at least like me enough to keep being good to Willow, so I play the demure, obedient waitress
and lower my eyes. “Well, I hope Mr. Zakrevsky’s ears won’t mind a little frustrated joke.”
She stares at me for one heavy, silent moment. Then smirks. “His ears heard nothing. And his taste buds haven’t clocked a goodcocktail in years.”
Someone beckons her to their table, so she glides away without a second glance at me. It’s just in time for the bartender to slidea new Rum Martinez across the counter, and then I’m back to pretending I actually enjoy serving Demyen hand and foot.
Just as I expected, he takes one sip and nods his approval.
“Much better.”
The threads on my self-control are working overtime. It’s a literal miracle my eyes don’t roll back in my h
