Luanna Stewart

He propped an elbow next to the credit card reader and leaned closer. “How about you and I get a coffee?”

“Not happening.” She pressed a key on her register. “Thirty-nine eighty, please.”

“You must get a break.” He slid his credit card into the reader.

She leaned her hands on the counter. “You don’t remember, do you?”

“Remember what?” A tickle of dread stole the fun out of the little flirt session. Being asked if he remembered was never a good way to start a conversation with a woman, covering as it did a myriad of hidden death traps. A forgotten birthday, or anniversary, or first date, or worst of all, a one-night-stand. He doubted he’d forget a night spent with Nicole, but he couldn’t rid himself of a sick feeling, much like the sense of impending doom at the crest of a roller coaster track.

She slammed the cash drawer shut and handed him the receipt. “Halifax?”

“Yeah?” Shit, that word encompassed a hell of a lot of potential trouble. The city had a pub on every corner, to say nothing of the music clubs, restaurants, and casinos. Ample opportunities for a casual hook-up. Damn hard to remain lonely in Halifax.

“Dunstan and Woodville?”

What the hell? The tickle of dread became a punch in the gut. “That’s where I work—used to work.” Admitting the end of his dream hurt. All his work undone, all those long hours erased. Almost at the top of the ladder and he’d been knocked off. Stepped on a snake’s tail, and slid all the way to the starting line.

“Yeah, me, too.”

Shit. Oh, shit. His smile slipped and he knew he looked like a guilty son-of-a-bitch. “You were in the accounting department. Assistant office manager.”

“Ding, ding, ding. Give the man a prize.”

“Until you were let go.”

“Ah…no. Until you fired me. You.”