Free Catch A Falling Superstar: A New Adult Erotic Romance by J. Emily Steen

Sugar, probably. I can tell that they don't know the secret to a really good tomato soup. It's not bad. But nothing beats one you've made yourself.”
    He took a swig of his water.
    “So. My background is taken care of, and so is the meal. Now I want your story.”
    “Not much to tell. Very boring life. No stars or famous directors. You got me curious now. What exactly is the secret to a good tomato soup?”
    He looked at me as if I'd just asked him to do a handstand on the table. “I can't tell you that. It's a secret.”
    “And enemy agents are everywhere?”
    He winced, just a little. It was the first sign of vulnerability I'd seen from him. It sent a warm flood to my heart. And another one, too, much further down. There was tingling going on there now. So he was human. But what a human!
    “Yeah,” he said, ”I sometimes overdo that secret agent thing. You'd think I'd get enough of that shooting the Quiller stuff. And you're trying to weasel your way out of telling me anything about yourself. I'm not going to take it. Talk to me.”
    I sighed. It really was not my favorite topic.
    “Fine. Grew up here, one younger brother, parents divorced when I was fourteen, not a pretty thing to watch from up close. Mom said she had a college fund set up, so I went to an almost nice one up in Massachusetts. For one year. Then, mysteriously, the funds dried up. Like, completely. Turns out she'd given every penny to her new boyfriend, who's been out of work for fifteen years. If he ever had a job in the first place, which I have my own thoughts about. So that was it. Dropped out, got a job at LuckyStop, and hoping to maybe one day work my way up to assistant branch manager. Can't help but notice that my mom's boyfriend drives a new Dodge Charger now.”
    Archer narrowed his eyes.
    “You're kidding!”
    “Yes, you're probably right. Assistant manager is to ambitious a goal for now. One day at a time and all that kind of stuff.”
    I misunderstood on purpose, which was a bitchy thing that he didn't really deserve. But hey, he asked for this.
    He was silent for while, looking past me out the window. Probably my tale was a little dark for a man who'd make tens of millions of dollars in a year. Well, he'd wanted to hear it.
    “Okay. Some of that sucks, some of it doesn't,” he finally said.
    “But which is which?” I said, a little sarcastically.
    “Not really for me to say. Though the Charger is probably on the sucky side.”
    He put his spoon down in the empty bowl with a metallic rattle.
    “You're alive and young. Anything is possible. College is badly overrated anyway. I wouldn't worry about that. But now, I'm sort of worried about something else.”
    He was looking hard out the window. I turned to see what it was.
    Oh my. Two vans had emptied their passengers out on the sidewalk, and they were on their way inside the restaurant. They were mostly women, it seemed, with only a couple of men to be seen. They were all adults from their 20s to 60s. They were chatting happily among themselves, and they looked like the employees of a local business about to be bought lunch by their management as a reward for good quarterly results or something.
    I looked quickly around the restaurant. Yep, there was a long table prepared for them, all set and laid out, with a large Reserved sign.
    As they entered and noisily found their table and sat down, Archer pulled his baseball cap a little further down over his eyes and discreetly put his sunglasses back on while turning his head. It was such a practiced act that he had obviously done it many times before.
    I observed the new group from the corner of my eye. They all found their seats, happily chatting like co-workers can do when they're all ready for a nice, free lunch. The waitress came over to them and gave them recommendations.
    Then I overheard her excitedly whisper loudly “we have a very distinguished guest here today,” and then she must have pointed or nodded in our direction,