Free Open Life (Open Skies #5) by Marysol James Page B

Kramer tapped her glossy nails on the counter. “Not four.”
    Maria paused. “Kieran made a note for four.”
    “Well, the boy is mistaken. I had three.”
    “Uh. He says you had a lesson every day since you arrived.”
    “No. I didn’t have one on Tuesday.”
    Maria paused again. “Well, actually, Mrs. Kramer, you did.”
    “What?” The woman’s blue eyes opened wide and she looked scandalized. “How do you know?”
    “Because on Tuesday I was down at the stables bringing food for a campfire for some of the kids. I passed the tennis courts on my way there and back and I saw you having a lesson.”
    “No. That’s not correct.”
    “I’m afraid it is, ma’am.” She tapped on her keyboard. “So, I’ll add four lessons to your bill, OK?”
    “Maybe the problem is that you can’t understand me,” Mrs. Kramer said loudly, enunciating clearly. “Maybe your English isn’t very good and that’s why we’re having this issue. I did not have a lesson on Tuesday .”
    Dillon had been watching and listening to all of this quietly, but he got to his feet now. He fixed his glare on the bitch with the frosted blonde hair and the blinding bling and opened his mouth to put her in her goddamn place.
    Out of the corner of her eye, Maria saw Dillon’s hulking frame moving closer and she shot him a warning look. Just about the last thing she needed was Dillon barrelling on in to this situation with his usual subtlety and decorum – which was the etiquette equivalent of a ten-ton truck with jammed brakes. He seemed to hear her, thank Christ, and he simply stood and glowered.
    She turned back to Mrs. Kramer, determined to be professional. “My English is fine, Mrs. Kramer,” Maria said politely. “As you know, I was born in the States.”
    “Ah.” The woman’s pencil-thin eyebrows were raised in a way that seemed oddly sarcastic. “An anchor baby, correct?”
    Maria froze now, stunned at how much that hurt. “No, ma’am.”
    “Well, I hope your family’s as legal as you are. We have a huge Mexican problem, as I’m sure you know. Not that you’re Mexican , of course, you’re American. Mostly.”
    Dillon had heard enough. Enraged, he stepped in to the conversation, ignoring Maria’s mute plea for him to back off.
    “Shut the hell up, lady,” he snarled. “Just who the fuck do you think you are?”
    Both women gasped but he didn’t even pause.
    “Now listen up, yeah? I was with Maria on Tuesday. I helped her carry the stuff down to the stables and I saw you in your too-short skirt taking a tennis lesson and drooling all over Kieran. What do you have to say to that?”
    “I – I – you…” Mrs. Kramer sputtered. “Who do you think you are, speaking to me like this?”
    “I’m a guy who thinks that money can’t buy class and it sure as hell can’t buy human decency. Now, pay your goddamn bill and get your ass to your car.”
    “Dillon,” Maria murmured. “Please…”
    “Please what, darlin’?” he demanded. “You think she has the right to talk to you like this just ‘cause she opened up her legs and married money?”
    Mrs. Kramer’s eyes lit up with anger. “I want to speak to Julie Everett this instant.”
    “Oh, no,” Maria began but Dillon interrupted her.
    “Excellent idea,” he said. “Call her, Maria.”
    “No, please.” Maria was suddenly terrified that she’d be fired. “Dillon, it’s fine.”
    “I insist,” Mrs. Kramer said, obviously enjoying Maria’s panic. “Call her.”
    “Call her,” Dillon echoed.
    Maria bit her lip and picked up the phone. She knew that Dillon was in the right here, she knew that Felicia Kramer was behaving horrifically. But she also knew that she was just the receptionist and as such, she was the lowest person on the totem pole. Jeremy Kramer was a big deal in certain financial circles in the state and his wife rode the coattails of that damn near to death.
    “Maria?” Julie said. “What’s up?”
    “Could you – could you please