Fighting Fate (Granton University #1)(23)

“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 herself 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.