on.
“That one says White Sand,” he pointed out, gesturing to the unopened can. His gaze slid to the half-used can. The lid had been replaced, but a smudge of green paint covered the label. Cale knelt and began returning the other lids to their cans. A few also had their label obscured, but two were readable, and said “White Sand.”
Cale shifted to take the unopened can in hand. Spotting the opener, he grabbed it, caught it under the lid and tore the top off the paint can. They stared at the thick green liquid revealed.
“It looks like someone mixed them wrong,” Cale said quietly. “The store will have to reimburse you for this.”
“And for the painter’s time,” she said, beaming at him as if he’d revealed a small fortune in gold dubloons in the can. Cale had no idea how much painters cost, but felt sure he hadn’t saved her that much money. He suspected she was just happy to have at least one reversal of fortune, one instance where she wasn’t having to bite the bullet and swallow the expense. She proved him right by saying, “Maybe this is a sign that my luck is changing. You may just be my good-luck charm, Cale. Thank you.”
“My pleasure,” Cale assured her, putting the lid back on the can. Straightening, he said, “I shall have it taken care of in the morning, if you like?”
Alex smiled wryly. “It would be worth it to hire you just to not have to deal with the store manager again.”
“Then hire me,” he said. When she hesitated, headded, “You could return to cooking and stop worrying about all of this.”
“You’re like the devil whispering in my ear with temptation,” she said with amusement.
“Good. Hire me,” he repeated firmly.
Alex hesitated. Finally, she frowned and shook her head. “You’re from France.”
Cale’s eyebrows shot up. “Is that a problem?”
“Well, only to the government,” she said dryly. “You won’t have a SIN number.”
“A sin number?” he asked with confusion.
“A Social Insurance Number,” she explained. “They call it a social security number in the States. I’m not sure what they call it in France, but you can’t work in Canada without a Canadian SIN card … or at least a work Visa or something.”
“I have a Social Insurance Number,” he lied. Arranging for such things for immortals who wished to relocate to Canada was one of the things his companies did.
“How can you have a Social Insurance Number? You’re from France,” she said with confusion.
“I have dual citizenship,” Cale said blandly, thinking he’d have to call his office and have his assistant arrange for a SIN card to be sent to him. Realizing she was staring at him wide-eyed, he added, “A good portion of my family lives here. It is why I came.”
She tilted her head, “Is Mortimer family?”
“No. He works for my uncle, though,” Cale said, and that just seemed to confuse her more.
“How can he work for your Uncle? Mortimer, Bricker, and Decker are in a band.”
Cale stiffened. No one had told him that Alex thought the men were in a band. Smiling a bit stiffly, he said, “Work is perhaps the wrong term, but my uncle books their … er … concerts and appearances. They play where he sends them.”
“Oh, you mean he’s their agent or manager or whatever,” Alex said nodding.
“Yes, that’s it. He is their manager,” Cale murmured, leading her back across the room. He picked up a roller, and then noting that she had finished painting the area where the ladder allowed her to reach, he took a moment to move the ladder for her.
“Thank you,” Alex said as she began to climb back up it.
“De rien,” Cale murmured, wondering how Lucian would feel about his new cover.
“So you’re here visiting family,” Alex commented as she set back to work, and then gave a slight laugh. “I’m glad to hear it. I thought maybe you weren’t too bright, vacationing here during the coldest season.”
Cale smiled faintly, but said, “I’m
“That one says White Sand,” he pointed out, gesturing to the unopened can. His gaze slid to the half-used can. The lid had been replaced, but a smudge of green paint covered the label. Cale knelt and began returning the other lids to their cans. A few also had their label obscured, but two were readable, and said “White Sand.”
Cale shifted to take the unopened can in hand. Spotting the opener, he grabbed it, caught it under the lid and tore the top off the paint can. They stared at the thick green liquid revealed.
“It looks like someone mixed them wrong,” Cale said quietly. “The store will have to reimburse you for this.”
“And for the painter’s time,” she said, beaming at him as if he’d revealed a small fortune in gold dubloons in the can. Cale had no idea how much painters cost, but felt sure he hadn’t saved her that much money. He suspected she was just happy to have at least one reversal of fortune, one instance where she wasn’t having to bite the bullet and swallow the expense. She proved him right by saying, “Maybe this is a sign that my luck is changing. You may just be my good-luck charm, Cale. Thank you.”
“My pleasure,” Cale assured her, putting the lid back on the can. Straightening, he said, “I shall have it taken care of in the morning, if you like?”
Alex smiled wryly. “It would be worth it to hire you just to not have to deal with the store manager again.”
“Then hire me,” he said. When she hesitated, headded, “You could return to cooking and stop worrying about all of this.”
“You’re like the devil whispering in my ear with temptation,” she said with amusement.
“Good. Hire me,” he repeated firmly.
Alex hesitated. Finally, she frowned and shook her head. “You’re from France.”
Cale’s eyebrows shot up. “Is that a problem?”
“Well, only to the government,” she said dryly. “You won’t have a SIN number.”
“A sin number?” he asked with confusion.
“A Social Insurance Number,” she explained. “They call it a social security number in the States. I’m not sure what they call it in France, but you can’t work in Canada without a Canadian SIN card … or at least a work Visa or something.”
“I have a Social Insurance Number,” he lied. Arranging for such things for immortals who wished to relocate to Canada was one of the things his companies did.
“How can you have a Social Insurance Number? You’re from France,” she said with confusion.
“I have dual citizenship,” Cale said blandly, thinking he’d have to call his office and have his assistant arrange for a SIN card to be sent to him. Realizing she was staring at him wide-eyed, he added, “A good portion of my family lives here. It is why I came.”
She tilted her head, “Is Mortimer family?”
“No. He works for my uncle, though,” Cale said, and that just seemed to confuse her more.
“How can he work for your Uncle? Mortimer, Bricker, and Decker are in a band.”
Cale stiffened. No one had told him that Alex thought the men were in a band. Smiling a bit stiffly, he said, “Work is perhaps the wrong term, but my uncle books their … er … concerts and appearances. They play where he sends them.”
“Oh, you mean he’s their agent or manager or whatever,” Alex said nodding.
“Yes, that’s it. He is their manager,” Cale murmured, leading her back across the room. He picked up a roller, and then noting that she had finished painting the area where the ladder allowed her to reach, he took a moment to move the ladder for her.
“Thank you,” Alex said as she began to climb back up it.
“De rien,” Cale murmured, wondering how Lucian would feel about his new cover.
“So you’re here visiting family,” Alex commented as she set back to work, and then gave a slight laugh. “I’m glad to hear it. I thought maybe you weren’t too bright, vacationing here during the coldest season.”
Cale smiled faintly, but said, “I’m
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