I nodded, stepping into the dining area. “Hey, Mace?”
“Yeah?” she asked distractedly, still stuffing cards into a worn-out box.
“Thanks. But I’m okay. I promise.”
She smiled kindly. “Hmm. I don’t know about that. I’ll do a more thorough reading later.”
“No, no. That was plenty. I just hope you’re right. I could use some good luck.” I sighed, picking up a water pitcher on my way to the newly seated customer. I concentrated on not spilling as I greeted him. “Good afternoon. We have chips and our not-quite-famous guac on the way.”
“Fabulous.”
“I believe I overheard a request for a margar—” I set the pitcher on the table and froze. “Whoa. I know you.”
The curly-haired man beamed at me. “You certainly don’t know me, sir. However, we did meet this morning. I’m Charlie Rourke.”
I regarded his outstretched hand for a moment before shaking it, unable to keep my curiosity in check. “I remember. Lemme guess…you aren’t here for chips and guac.”
“You are correct. But I’m always up for a margarita. I’ll try the jalapeño, no salt, please.”
I narrowed my gaze, fixing him with my most intense stare. It didn’t work. His smile only grew until it took over his face. I called Juan over and passed along Charlie’s order, then crossed my arms and tried again. “What can I help you with, Mr. Rourke?”
“It’s just Charlie. Mr. Rourke is my father…whom I believe you know.” He cocked his head and gestured to the empty expanse of booth as if he were granting me an audience with royalty. “Join me, please?”
“Love to, but I can’t. I’m working.”
“I’ll make it quick,” he stage-whispered.
I scanned the dining area and gave Macy a meaningful glance, then perched on the corner of the seat. “Fine. What can I do for you?”
Charlie flattened his hands on the table and sucked in a long breath. “Well…this is a touch awkward, but someone has to do it, and I’m always the most likely choice.”
“O-kay. For what?”
“Well…I need to know something,” he replied gravely. A second later, his eyes lit up. “OMG. Margarita time! Thank you, thank you. I’m forever grateful.”
Juan chuckled as he set a margarita, chips, salsa, and guac on the table. “You’re welcome. Can I get you anything else?”
“No, this is perfect.” Charlie removed the jalapeño garnish from his drink and twisted the straw. He took a sip, fluttering his eyelashes in bliss. “Mm, that’s good. I love margaritas. I used to only order frozen strawberry margs. Gotta love a fruity slushy that packs a punch. But my tastes have broadened a bit over time. I’ve gone through an ‘original only’ phase to ‘original, but hold the salt’ to… ‘just bring it and amaze me.’ ”
I gave him dubious side-eye. “And jalapeños amaze you?”
“Oh, hell yes. Hot, spicy, and magical. I put them in everything to give a dish an extra kick.” He took another sip, then reached for a chip. “I overdid it with my chili the other night. My boyfriend’s tongue swelled. It wasn’t severe, but I was afraid Ky was having an allergic reaction. And yes, he sort of did, but it was more a matter of too much of a good thing. You know?”
I furrowed my brow, observing him curiously while he went on about the perils of over-spicing. Which was kind of entertaining, but geez…was this guy for real?
I cleared my throat when he paused for oxygen. “That’s all pretty fascinating, but uh…what did you need from me?”
Charlie dabbed the corner of his mouth and met my gaze, his full lips drawn in a serious line that reminded me of his dad and hinted at what might be an uncomfortable conversation. But really, what was he gonna ask? “What are your intentions?” or—
“What are your intentions?”
I chuckled at his timing, leaned forward, and took a chip. “So…you’re here as a doting son worried about his dad’s virtue?”
Charlie barked out a laugh. “Oh, God, no. Dad’s hopeless. And virtue is such a subjective quality these days. What one person finds to be good and righteous is someone else’s idea of sin. Who’s to judge? Not me.”
“Then what’s up?” I prodded.
“Here’s the deal.” He shifted on the leatherette booth, and suddenly he was all business. “I stopped by my dad’s office to drop off Ollie’s bag at lunchtime. And when I was chatting with Trish, I spotted a contact sheet with your dashing headshot on her desk. She explained that you’d stopped by early this morning…and I want to know why.”
“Easy. I’m an actor looking for work.”
“That’s it?”
I popped a chip in my mouth. “What are you gettin’ at?”
“I’ve assessed your danger quotient, and I’m slightly alarmed,” he blurted.
“Huh?”
“You seem…” Charlie paused to give me a fleeting once-over and shrugged. “Fine. But there’s something rather pressing afoot, and I can’t take any stupid risks.”
“This sounds like English, but I don’t know what you’re saying. How am I a risk to you? D’ya think I was gonna spike your margarita or something?”