Fighting Fate

by Linda Kage

  “Are you crazy? I’m not working with him.” Paige whirled to gape at Gus Winders, hoping he was joking.

  This all had to be a horrible, awful, terrible joke.

  She’d gotten such good vibes about working at The Squeeze. How could Logan Xander be an employee here too? And how could anyone suggest he actually train her?

  Mr. Winders pulled back, his eyebrows arching with startled disbelief as he glanced between her and the murderer. “You two know each other?”

  “No!” she spat out, appalled by the very idea at the same moment Logan Xander declared his own emphatic, “No.”

  Gus blinked, showing his blank confusion.

  “I…she…” Though his hands were full, Logan tried to point and motion to her. He lost his hold on a package of green cups and jiggled his shoulders to secure them back into place. “Her brother and I…fought.”

  He looked her way, his face pale and desperate, his gaze begging her for something she didn’t understand.

  Returning his attention to Gus, he added, “I think she’s required to hate me on principle alone.”

  Again, her new boss glanced between them, looking utterly poleaxed. “Well, you’re just going to have to put all the family rivalry aside. We have a juice bar to run and customers waiting.”

  Paige’s mouth fell open.

  Family rivalry? Family rivalry, her butt.

  Since Xander had been the one to speak up about their enmity in the first place, Paige sent him an expectant look, waiting for him to correct their boss.

  But he didn’t say a word.

  “Good,” Gus announced with a wide smile as if everything was settled. “Get back to work then.” Turning away from them, he left her alone…with Logan Xander.

  “Uh…grab a time card and clock in,” Logan told her, trying to motion her in the right direction with his arms full, all the while looking as rattled as she felt. After he told her to sign her name at the top of the card and to tie on a tiny blue waist apron with a The Squeeze logo splashed across one of the pockets, she followed him toward the front of the juice bar…where she was going to be trained by Logan Xander.

  It didn’t seem real, but it was most definitely happening.

  “You lied to me,” she hissed into his ear after hurrying up a step. “You said we would never cross paths again. And look. Every time I turn around, there you are!”

  “I’ve worked here for almost two years,” he growled back under his breath. “How was I supposed to know you’d apply today?”

  She snorted. “So, what? Just because you were here first, I should automatically back out, then?”

  “I didn’t say that.” He glanced back at her with an incredulous expression, which she knew she deserved. She knew she was being totally unreasonable, glaring at him for already working where she wanted to work. But she could blame the inability to control her emotions on him. He tended to bring out the unreasonable in her.

  Grr. She should’ve done a little reconnaissance and discovered the fact that he already worked here before applying, though honestly, she never would’ve thought a high-and-mighty lawyer’s son would need to lower himself to being a beverage server.

  The whole situation had her utterly unbalanced. But on the plus side, it totally negated her new job nerves. She was too busy glaring at the back of his head to worry about messing up her first night.

  When they entered the front, stepping directly into chaos behind the counter where one tall, lanky college student manned the counter, she pulled to an abrupt halt and found herself actually starting her job.

  “This is Ricky,” Logan said, brushing past her to restock the supplies in his arms in their various locations.

  Ricky—with a huge, black button-looking things for earrings, a chain hanging from his skinny jeans, and a blond Mohawk—barely looked her way as he rushed from one of the many beverage machines with two cups overflowing and whipped cream on top to the counter.

  “About time you came back,” he muttered to Logan.

  Logan had all the supplies in order before she could properly orient herself, digesting the scene in the tight, cramped space behind the counter.

  “This way,” he said as he swept by.

  She scowled after him for his brusque command. But since he was apparently her trainer for the next few hours, she reluctantly followed.

  When he approached the line of impatiently waiting customers, she gulped, her new-job jitters roaring to life.

  As the two girls and one guy at the front of the line gave their order, Logan nodded without writing a single thing down, his attention on finding something under the counter. Spotting a laminated sheet of paper, he handed it to Paige.

  “Cheat sheet.” Then he repeated verbatim the order back to the customers.

  He brought her around to face the back wall full of foreign machines. Leading her to one, he explained in hyper speed how to make each drink, barely pausing his demonstration to point out the recipes for them on her cheat sheet before completing the order.

  “Don’t worry,” he added as if reading her mind. “When things slow down, we can go through them again, one step at a time.”

  As he picked up two of the three drinks he’d fixed, Paige snagged the third. He looked momentarily startled by her helpfulness but didn’t say anything.

  Again, he rushed when showing her how to run the cash register. She understood the hurry. She didn’t want to bottleneck the flow either, but she hoped he hadn’t been lying when he’d said they would go back over everything later, one detail at a time.

  He nearly bumped into her as he spun to retrieve the next order. It was more than she could take. Jerking backward away from him, she motioned toward Ricky manning the second register.

  “Why can’t he train me?”

  “Uh…” Logan blinked, looking taken aback. “He hasn’t worked here very long.” When Paige just stared at him, he blew out an irritated, yet surrendering breath. “Fine. I’ll ask him.”

  Chapter Ten

  RICKY HAD TO BE the lamest flirt Logan had ever seen. If it had been any other situation, he would’ve laughed aloud as he watched his co-worker’s awkward attempt to put the moves on Paige Zukowski.

  The lanky, pimple-faced sophomore stood entirely too close to Paige as he showed her how to work the meat slicer once the rush of customers had subsided. They didn’t serve a lot of food at the juice bar. Mostly muffins and baked goods, but they were quickly growing famous for their Deli Deluxe Sandwich, which required a lot of slicing and blade changing.

  “So this little doohickey goes here.” Ricky demonstrated by showing Paige how to screw the new blade into place. “And voilà!” He flared out his hands, using an awful French accent. “Our masterpiece is complete.”

  Logan arched an eyebrow, wondering if that was supposed to be funny.

  Paige smiled vaguely, looking more sick to her stomach than amused by Ricky’s theatrics. “It looks…nice.”

  A snort worked up Logan’s throat. He jerked his face away and covered the beginning of his laugh with a cough, surprised by how much the whole thing amused him. But her overly polite answer was just too much. Poor Ricky didn’t impress her in the least.

  He wanted to snicker some dry, sarcastic crack about how Mr. Mohawk captivated all the girls with his meat slicing abilities. But Paige then flashed Ricky a genuine smile, and a fresh wave of grief gripped Logan, pulverizing his cheer to pieces.

  As pathetic as he was, Ricky could still flirt with her. He could press up close to her and try with all his might to win her favor. It was a heck of a lot more than Logan could ever attempt, if he felt so inclined, which—after a brief glance her way—okay, he kind of did. Nevertheless, he could never flirt with her. In another life, he’d probably be macking all over her, busting out his mojo and—

  But that Logan was long gone. Even if the situation were appropriate for him to act, he hadn’t flirted with a girl since…not for three years now. Whenever one smiled and fluttered her las
hes at him these days, he usually just felt clammy and panicked. Swallowing hard, he looked away from Trace Zukowski’s little sister.

  What in God’s name was wrong with him? Why didn’t she make him feel clammy and panicked? Sure, she was pretty, in an ethereal way, with her glossy dark hair and eyes against the stark contrast of her pale skin. But there were a lot of visually pleasing ladies on campus. And he hadn’t taken this kind of notice of them.

  Why her?

  It didn’t matter anyway. Nothing was ever going to happen there. Feeling centuries old, he rubbed his hands briskly over his face and checked the counter, wishing someone would approach and make an order already.

  Where had everyone gone? It was never this slow around here.

  “And now we’re ready to slice and dice.” Ricky had transformed his act into some kind of chef impersonation.

  Unable to stop himself, Logan glanced over and immediately spotted what Ricky had failed to show Paige.

  “You forgot the guard,” he groused under his breath.

  Paige glanced at him, her beautiful dark eyes instantly narrowing. “What?”

  He gulped and pulled his attention away from her to Ricky, since Ricky had stopped talking to look at him too. After clearing his throat, he raised his voice. “You forgot to show her how to put on the safety guard.”

  Ricky stared at him blankly. “Huh?”

  Was he serious? With a sigh of disgust, Logan marched over and yanked up the plastic shield lying forgotten on the sidebar. “The safety guard,” he repeated.

  Paige shifted a step away from him, nearly bumping into Ricky. Logan barely refrained from rolling his eyes. He’d like to see how close she cuddled to Mohawk when he got her finger sliced off because of his neglect.

  “I never use that thing,” Ricky said, making a face at the guard as if it was contaminated. “It just gets in the way. And I’ve never gotten cut.”

  Logan opened his mouth to argue. But a ding came from the counter by his register. Three people stood in line, waiting for service. Of course. Now they showed up.

  Grinding his molars, Logan reminded himself she had asked for Ricky to train her. Whatever came from it could be on her conscience. Putting his back to them, he returned to the counter.

  “What can I get for you?”

  “And that’s a wrap. Let’s clock out.”

  At Ricky’s announcement, Paige frowned, sending a short a glance away from her trainer and across the shop to Logan. With his long sleeves rolled up to his biceps, he’d buried his hands elbow deep into a sink full of sudsy water. She watched the muscles in his back stretch under his shirt as he scrubbed. Blinking, she tore her gaze away and focused once again on Ricky as he hefted a book bag onto his shoulder.

  “But don’t we have to help clean up?” she asked.

  He shrugged and cast his own appraising glance toward Logan. “Why? Looks like Xander has it under control.” Then he flashed her a grin and waved. “I’ll see you next shift we work together. It was great to meet you.”

  She could only gape as he took off down the hall to the rear of the restaurant. When the clunk of the time clock echoed back to her, her mouth dropped open. He was seriously just leaving without cleaning anything up.

  What was worse, he’d just left her alone with Logan Xander.

  Unease swamped her. She cast another quick peek at his back. This time the bunch and flex of his muscles underneath his shirt looked a lot more threatening. He could overpower her so easily, kill with one punch.

  She sucked in a breath through her nose, commanding herself not to panic.

  But, hello. She’d just been freaking left alone with Logan Xander.

  She should go. She could leave and clock out right along with Ricky. Except, what kind of lame co-worker left you alone with clean-up duty? Though honestly, the guy who was currently stacking a line of cleaned plates onto the rinse rack didn’t seem to mind the added burden. Logan said nothing as he turned on the hose and sprayed the suds off each plate, creating a hot steam of fog to float up around him.

  Paige shifted uneasily. She couldn’t just leave him.

  “What do I need to do?” she called when he stopped rinsing and had returned to washing.

  He whirled around as if surprised anyone was still present. Looking almost horrified to see her, he opened his mouth but no words came out. Then he pressed his lips together, and his throat worked while he swallowed.

  Looking away, he mumbled, “You can go ahead and go home. I got this.”

  Now she really couldn’t go. Leave him alone to clean the mess she’d helped create so she’d forever owe him one? Not going to happen.

  Straightening her shoulders, she narrowed her eyes. “But how will I know what to do on the nights I don’t work with you and my other co-worker flakes off as soon as we close?”

  He looked conflicted as he stared at her. Then he winced and muttered, “Right,” as he scratched his scalp with a sudsy hand, leaving a white glob of bubbles clinging to the side of his head. It looked so ridiculous, she simply blinked.

  Whenever she envisioned her brother’s killer, she always saw this cool, collected lethal guy in black leather and dark pants, with not a hair out of place. He was the spoiled rich son of a spoiled, rich lawyer, too arrogant and smug to tip his nose down enough to notice the little people he squashed below his name-brand boots. But there Logan Xander stood, humble and oh-so-human with whipped topping splattered across his waiter’s apron and soapsuds in his hair.

  “You can, uh, wipe down the tables in the front.” He dunked his hand into the water and pulled out a dripping washcloth for her to use. After wringing it semi-dry, he held it out to her.

  Paige stared at it. They worked the same job, wore the same kind of apron, went to the same school, had even shared a class for the space of thirty seconds. It was unnerving.

  Logan suddenly sniffed out a sound of disgust and smacked the wet cloth against the counter beside him. “There,” he growled and promptly turned away to shove his hands into the dishwater and pull out a serving knife he must’ve forgotten to run through with the rest of the dishes. Or maybe he’d purposed left it out to clean by hand to intimidate her.

  In either case, she jolted at the size of the blade, but he didn’t seem to notice her apprehension as he scrubbed it clean with a scouring pad. He seemed upset.

  She swallowed, swirling in her confusion when it struck her; he’d been offended that she hadn’t taken the wash cloth from his hand. Quickly snagging it off the counter, she hurried to the front and wiped every horizontal surface she could find, even a couple vertical surfaces like the chair leg where a smoothie splatter caught her attention. Then she turned the chairs over and set them upside down on the tabletops.

  After hunting up a broom and dust pan, she swept the floor and threw away the dirt, stray napkins, and extra trash.

  Logan had finished the dishes and drained the water by the time she returned. He was cleaning out one of the large juicers, his back toward her. She glanced around, looking for something to do.

  “I’ll get the slicer,” she said.

  His brief nod was the only response he gave. Clearing her throat, she approached the slicing machine.

  Logan Xander was dashing every preconceived notion she’d made about him. All evening, he’d been tidy and efficient, quick to do any job that needed done, and courteous to every customer. His patience surprised her when he’d handled a complaint from an order Ricky had made. When he’d given the upset man a refund, he’d even apologized for the error.

  He didn’t complain, didn’t whine, just did his job.

  She liked that. A lot.

  Shaking her head in confusion, she unscrewed the blade, working in reverse of how Ricky had showed her to put it together. Behind her, Logan walked past, making her muscles clench with anxiety. But he kept going until he disappeared into the back. A split second later, she heard him rustling around in the supply closet.

  She exhaled, commanding hersel
f to stop acting so jumpy. Logically, she knew he wasn’t a cold-blooded killer. Trace’s death had come in the heat of the moment; he hadn’t pre-planned anything. But the mere fact he’d taken so much from her—he’d ruined her life—she just couldn’t relax around him.

  Focusing on the noise he made in the supply closet and bracing for the moment he would return to the intimate space behind the counter with her, she sucked in a breath when a sharp, slicing pain carved across her thumb.

  Jumping away from the slicer, she dropped the blade, letting it clatter to the floor, and gaped in horror at the blood welling from her skin.

  Dear God, she couldn’t stand the sight of blood. There had been so much blood. It had flared out from under her mother’s body like a scarlet cape.

  The cape of death.

  Dizziness swamped her. She was going to pass out. Her vision grayed at the edges. No wonder she refused to even think about her mother anymore. Even the mere memory made her want to faint.

  “Wha—”

  She looked up to see the stacks of cups in Logan’s arms tumble to the floor as his eyes widened with shock. He leaped toward her, making her jump back and ram her hip into the side of the counter.

  Her need to swoon vanished, replaced by the shock of her brother’s murderer charging toward her.

  Without speaking, he snatched her hand and pressed his fingers hard against the knuckle of her thumb, making the cut pulse with pain. She gasped and tried to pull away. Ignoring her, he looked both directions before glancing down and burying her thumb into his apron. The cloth instantly soaked up her blood.

  After mummifying her thumb, he kept a tight hold of the wrap as he untied his apron strings with his free hand, untethering her from him.

  Again, Paige tried to wrench free. “That hurts.”

  “No, wait.” He tugged her closer. “We need to keep pressure on it to stanch the blood flow. Your cut looks pretty deep.”

  Blood flow. Deep cut.

  The words made her blanch.

  He lifted his gaze to her face. “There’s a medical kit in the supply closet.”