Free At Wit's End by A.K. Lawrence Page B

didn’t bother correcting his name as that was for friends. “I just met him tonight, actually.” James wore a dark blazer over a blue shirt with black pants, standard fare. Wit couldn’t help but notice the man’s shoes were scuffed and worn.
    “Who are you here with? I’d like to shake their hand.”
    “I highly doubt that,” Wit said under his breath. “The caterer.”
    The man gave him a knowing wink. “Checking out a company for investment, eh? I may have to look into it myself.”
    “No, I know the caterer. She’s a friend of mine. I’m helping her out for the night.”
    “How the mighty have fallen.” James shook his head to show his sadness over the state of affairs.
    “You know how that old song goes, you say tomato and all that,” Wit needed to make an escape from this man and get Marie out of here before she saw him. Instead of taking the brush off the man laughed heartily once more. His charisma was turned on full bore, Wit noted.
    “You’ll have to explain it to me over drinks sometime. While I have you here, I wanted to tell you I have a business proposal for you, assuming you can get some scratch together.”
    Wit wanted to show the man the Lamborghini he’d driven to the party and instead chose silence. He hoped he looked pensive and not murderous as he thought of the twenty different ways he could incapacitate this moron.
    “You think about it, let me give you my card. Call my office and we’ll get a proposal sent right over.”
    Wit took the card between two fingers. A movement over the man’s shoulder caught his attention. “Thank you, I’ll get in touch with you,” he said it automatically, dismissively as he stepped around Brandt.
    Marie stood behind a service table, solid as a stone. She held a pot of hot coffee in one hand, the other was braced on the ewer she must have been about to pour it into. Wit watched as the pot in her hand went sideways in slow motion before she dropped it.
    Hot coffee splashed across the floor, covering Marie’s feet and lower legs. She didn’t notice the pain. “Michael,” she whispered it. Marie felt something tighten in her stomach. The ball of lead she’d carried from the day he’d stolen her money began to heat and Marie felt a hot rage fill her veins.
    Her fingers tingled, clenched until her fists throbbed and ached to bash into that perfect, patrician nose. His back was to her as he talked to Wit – what was up with that? – but she’d recognize him anywhere.
    As she started forward Wit dodged around James and hurried to her. He slung an arm around her waist, sweeping her along quickly in the other direction. She faintly heard Cindy, one of the servers, ask if she was okay before Wit had her in a dark corner.
    “Breathe,” he told her. “Deeply and slowly. Breathe, Marie.”
    She whooped in a breath, held it and let it rush out. “This is your fault,” she told him.
    “What?”
    “You cursed the night earlier, remember? So this is your fault.” She was shaking, in anger or shock she didn’t know. Wit noticed and stepped closer, wrapped his arms around her.
    “Sh,” he whispered, and she realized she was crying. When her whole body felt like it was on fire, how could her tears feel hot? Marie struggled against his hold for a moment before sinking in to his embrace. The tears did n’t come long and Wit admired her self-control.
    He lifted her chin and looked into her watery eyes. “The night’s not a disaster yet. I can think of a million different things I could do right now to change that.”
    She blew a heavy breath out with a weak smile. “No, you’re right. It’s not a disaster. It is, however, a tragedy.”
    “One that can be averted,” he told her.
    She shook her head. “Of course. Everything is under control. I was scheduled to leave after the meal was served. My gang will do clean up and I’ll come back in the morning to double check. The meal has officially been served,”
    Marie looked over his shoulder to