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to that man. That . . . she searched for a better word than man, but couldn’t bring herself to call him a douche again, even in her own mind, especially since he stirred up a whole mess of feelings inside, conflicted feelings. Confusing ones too, since she didn’t get where they came from and why they existed.
    It had to be a combination of stress, fatigue, and shock from all this crap. What else could it be?
    The guy called Finn never came back to the restaurant. Never came for dessert with Belle. Also didn’t come for the backpack that Belle said belonged to him. Marissa glanced at the black and gray backpack. She wanted to know what was in it. Yes, she was curious about this man.
    But she shouldn’t. No, she shouldn’t. She put her hand on the zipper. You know better than to open other people’s stuff, even if you’re curious. She yanked her hand back.
    But what if it had any information that would help her get it back to him? Should she look in there to find it? You know better. You just want to pry, maybe even see him again?
    She didn’t want to admit to that, she turned away from the backpack. He’d come back for it if it was important. But what if it had important medicine that he needed? Like if he was a diabetic or had heart issues?
    A body like that? Her inner voice scoffed. As if that body would need medicines. His image flashed through her mind. That was a fact.
    She reached for the light switch, banishing Finn’s body and face from her mind. A good night’s rest would give her a fresh perspective.
    And maybe give you some answers to your problem. That’s true. She had no more clue what to do about the restaurant than she had this morning when that jackass at the bank jerked the rug out from under her feet.
    What could she do though? Nothing. She scrubbed at her face with hands that hurt from chopping vegetables and carrying large entrée plates all day. Yep, there was nothing she could do.
    Or was there? Surely she could do something about it? Couldn’t she? If she had the money to buy the chunk of property the landlord was selling, the chunk that included a third of Two West Two’s dining area. Couldn’t that solve the problem?
    Maybe, maybe not. There was still the issue with the declining business. Yeah, but what if I offered catering? Hired a catering manager.
    Sure, with what money?
    That again. It all boiled down to money, didn’t it? The door chimed.
    What the hell. James didn’t lock the front door when he left. Marissa froze. Her heart froze right along with her. She reached for the bat by the register. Like that will help if the intruder has a gun.
    “Marissa?”
    That voice. She knew that voice. Joey. Her ex. She released her grip on the bat. Her fingers still stiff from fear. “Yeah.” Her voice betrayed her anxiety. She hoped he wouldn’t notice.
    “Why is the door unlocked? You need to talk to James about that.”
    “I know. What do you want?” She couldn’t keep the civility that drained from her tone. She had no reason to be nice to him.
    “Nice to see you, too.” Sarcasm colored his. He raised his hand, a bottle of wine evident. “Your favorite.” He was still hot. Corporate hot. Conservative hot. Not dangerous hot.
    And just like that her mind flew to Finn. Dangerous, hot Finn. “I hate wine.”
    He tilted his head, the sexy way he knew used to drive her crazy. “Since when? You loved it when we were together. You drank it every time I bought it.”
    That head tilt might have used to drive her crazy, until she remembered the shit she put up with from him. “You never asked. It’s all you bought. I indulged you.”
    He put his hand over his heart, as if he was wounded, mortally wounded. “Ouch. Way to make me feel like a heel.” But there was still a twinkle in his eye.
    Marissa was ready for him to be gone already. “Why? Because you cheated on me?”
    He recoiled, as if shocked she’d bring it up, or remember, or hold it against him. As if. “Does that keep