“That’s it,” she says, shaking her head. “I’m setting you up with this guy from work who—”

I straighten my shoulders when I spot the blond man weaving his way through the tables, a tray in one hand and a soda cup in the other. “Hey,” I call to him, shooting Frida a triumphant glance. “Looking for a table?”

Frida follows my gaze and mutters, “Holy fucking bad boy.”

His blond hair is long enough to slick into perfect obedience, contrasting the chaotic colors that paint his tanned olive skin. Liquid blue eyes are soft, kind even, as they meet mine, but there’s something unsettling in the slow spread of his smile. Before I can decide how to feel about it, he’s nearing the table with his friend close behind.

“Nowhere to sit,” he says.

I nod, sliding deeper into the booth and gesturing next to me. “Lunch rush. Sit with us.”

Frida finally shuts her gaping mouth and smiles at the other man. “Please,” she invites. “We know what it’s like to spend half the lunch hour waiting for a table.”

“This is Juan,” says the man with mesmerizing blue eyes, nodding across the table. “And I’m Guy.”

I wipe my hands on a napkin to take his outstretched one. “Cataline.”

“Cataline.” He smiles as if the name itself is inherently amusing. “I don’t believe I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing a Cataline. Do you work around here?”

I nod, swallowing my mouthful. “A media company nearby. How about you?”

“Finance,” he says, adjusting the knot of his invisible tie. They both belly laugh over the hum of the crowd. “I’m kidding. We deal in body parts.”

“Body parts?” I exclaim.

“Yeah, the auto industry. Fenders, radiators, bumpers—boring shit like that.”

“Do you eat here often?” Frida asks while I stare at him.

“First time,” Guy says, winking at me. “Something on the menu caught my eye.”

Frida is watching my every move, so I hold Guy’s gaze, despite the heat creeping up my neck. “You seem a little out of place,” I say.

“Cat,” Frida admonishes.

“It’s cool,” Juan says. “She’s right. We’ve got business in the area.”

“You’re not from around here, Cataline, are you?” Guy asks.

“I grew up a couple hours away, actually.”

He leans back against the booth, studying me. “What brought you to New Rhone?”

I gesture toward the large window behind Juan and Frida. “I love this place. My whole life I’ve watched it from the outside, wishing . . .” I shrug. “I don’t know. Who wouldn’t want to be here?”

He inclines his head toward me and grins. “The crime rates don’t scare you?”

I shake my head. “We walk through downtown every night to get home. Never had a problem. We just steer clear of the East Side.”

His answering chuckle coats my skin with goose bumps. “Pretty girl like you ought to be more careful.”

“And there’s Hero,” Frida says.

Guy’s smile falters with a twitch. “Hero?”

“She’s sort of got a thing for our masked avenger.”

“Interesting,” Guy says.

“You see that thing on the news recently where he killed the Cartel guy?” Juan asks, his eyes darting between each of us. “That was fucked up.”

“Cataline didn’t think so. Justice being served makes her hot.” Frida looks at Guy. “Maybe over a dinner date she can tell you all about it.”

I mutter under my breath, and she scowls when I kick her shin.

“So men in masks do it for you, huh?” Guy asks.

“Don’t tease her. He’s her knight in shining armor. If you, say, ever wanted to see her again, I’d recommend playing nice.”

Guy holds his palms up and this time his laugh is lighter. “Message received.”

“We should get back or we’ll be late,” I say.

Both men stand from the booth. “Thanks for letting us crash your lunch.”

I smile at Guy. “No problem. Enjoy your meal.”

Outside the restaurant, the early-fall breeze is nothing compared to the icy look on Frida’s face. “Goddamn it. What was that?”

I squint at her. “What?”

“You’re all talk, Ford. You should’ve asked Guy out.”

I glance back through the glass doors of the restaurant, but I only see my own reflection. “I don’t know. There’s something a little off about him, don’t you think? Did you see all those tattoos?”

“They’re super hot.” She leans in and lowers her voice. “Also, I need to switch professions. He was wearing a Rolex.” She raises her eyebrows. “Go back in. Get his number.”

My teeth imprint on my bottom lip as I consider it. “Really?”

“Definitely.”

I sigh. Before I can decide, the door flies open so I have to jump out of the way.

“Sorry,” Guy says, running a hand through his hair. “I came out here to ask you on a date, not knock you down.”

His candor leaves my mouth hanging open.

“She’d love to,” Frida answers for me.

I snap my jaw shut. Guy is laughing melodically, showing off a perfect row of white teeth. The smog breaks, and the gilded undulations of his gelled hair glint under the sun’s attention. Time seems to stop as we all look at each other, appreciating the moment, and then the sun disappears again behind its black cloud.

Guy clears his throat. “I’m not in the business of forcing dinner dates on girls, no matter how pretty they are. I’d like to hear it from Cataline.”

That’s twice he’s called me pretty, and twice more than I’ve heard it in a long time. It makes me smile. I’m having a hard time deciding if he’s just what I’ve been looking for or if he’s something to run from. Frida’s voice is in my head, telling me I’m making excuses.

For no reason at all, I tilt my head back and look up. Three enormous crows are making a leisurely circle above us, evaporating behind the smog, then reappearing. Three black silhouettes of flapping wings and pin-sharp beaks. I glance over my shoulder expecting something, but nothing’s there.

Frida’s watching me with an eyebrow raised as Guy waits patiently.

“I don’t even know your last name.”

He smiles. “Fowler. Guy Fowler. So, what do you say? Can I take you out?”

Frida sighs.

“Sure,” I say finally. “I’d like that.”

“I’ll call you,” he says with a warm smile as he backs away.

“But you don’t—” I stop when he disappears into the restaurant and look at Frida. “He doesn’t have my number.”

“Hale’s going to go ballistic if you don’t move your ass.”

My entire body freezes suddenly as a chill runs down my spine. I’m motionless and braced for whatever’s behind me, but nothing happens. Frida’s already halfway down the block, so I run to catch up with her without looking back.

* * *

I’m shutting down my computer when my desk phone rings. I debate sneaking out, but it’s still two minutes to five o’clock. “Mr. Hale’s office.”

“Cataline? It’s Guy Fowler.”

Stunned, I don’t answer right away.

“You there?”

“Yes,” I say. “I’m impressed with your stalking skills.”

He laughs. “Fortunately, there’s only one major media company near Taco Shack. I won’t keep you. I wanted to tell you that I enjoyed meeting you, and I hope to take you on that date very soon.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

His voice drops suggestively low. “If it didn’t go against conventional dating rules, I’d take you out tonight.”

“Tonight?” My hand is sweating around the receiver when my eyes are drawn up from the desk. Calvin is standing rigid near the office entrance, glaring coldly in my direction, maybe even at me.

“Don’t worry,” Guy says. “I can be patient. I’ll see you again soon.”

There’s a click, but it takes me a moment to hang up. The conversation leaves me unsettled, but it’s Calvin who’s making me squirm. Lyla approaches him, waving her hands in front of him, almost blocking him from my sight. I keep staring, feeling as though I’m trying to receive whatever message he’s sending.

I faintly register an echo, a blurred-bokeh din. It’s a rude disruption to my moment with Calvin. By the time I feel for the receiver, I have no idea how long the phone’s been ringing. “Mr. Hale’s office.”

“Cat, it’s me.”

“Frida?”

“Going to happy hour, want to come?”

“It’s a work night.”

“Hey, guess what? You were right about Guy Fowler.”

“What? Why?”

“At lunch I thought the tattoo on his forearm looked familiar—a small rose. Well, just now I remembered where I’ve seen it. All the Riviera Cartel members have that—”

A finger drops in front of me, landing squarely on the phone’s hook. “Frida?” Mr. Hale asks, cocking his head. “I realize it’s after five, but do you think that allows you the luxury of personal calls?”

“No, sir. It was my roommate about something important.”

He lifts his finger, and I replace the phone in its cradle. “Your roommate?” he asks, scratching his chin with a crooked index finger. “The girl from the holiday party?”

I nod, and he grunts. “So what was it? What did she have to say?”

“I’m not sure. She didn’t finish her sentence.”

“Was it about her latest crush? Or maybe she bought a new lipstick?”

I stare at him dumbly. The word unemployed lights up in my mind, a flashing reminder of what will happen if I react how I want.

He sighs, clearly frustrated by my lack of response. “Save the girl talk for your living room, okay?” He thumbs over his shoulder at the clock. “You’re free to go.”

I take my purse from under the desk as Hale watches. On my way to the exit, my eyes go automatically to Calvin, whose back is to me. That feeling from outside the restaurant is back, a shift in the air while Guy waited for my answer. Even turned away, he draws me. The day almost calls for something as tragic as me finally approaching Calvin Parish. I swivel and push my shoulder into the office door, heading for the elevator.