A moment later, a waitress hurried through the door, balancing a tray full of drinks on one hand. She had bronze skin and dark hair that was piled on top of her head in a messy bun. Her eyes were wide, almond-shaped, and surrounded by thick lashes. Her mouth was coated with shiny gloss. She wore a black T-shirt with the bar’s logo in gold stamped over her right breast, and jean shorts under a black apron. Her shapely legs went on for miles.
She was, in a word, gorgeous.
Griffin slouched in his seat and wished it were cold so that he were wearing a jacket and could attempt to hide in the collar. Because, son of a bitch, the very dragon he’d intended to avoid was about to ask him for his drink order.
“How about we go somewhere else?” he suggested to Oliver, who ignored him and lifted his hand to draw the server’s attention.
She nodded at him, and Griffin knew the second she realized he wasn’t a dragon, because her nostrils flared and her eyes widened. Then her attention shifted to the guy sitting next to Oliver.
To him.
Her mouth fell open and the tray slipped from its perch atop her palm and nine different alcoholic concoctions crashed to the cement.
The dragons closest to her jumped out of the way to avoid being hit by flying glass and liquid; a chorus of groans went up all around them.
Ignoring the mess at her feet, she stabbed her finger in Griffin’s direction and shouted, “You! Get the hell out of this bar. In fact, get the hell out of this city. No, the state. Get out! Now!” Her voice rose with each word.
Griffin scrambled to his feet and scooped up the duffle he’d dropped next to his chair. Oliver stood, and they both backed toward the gate that would deposit them out onto the sidewalk.
“Go!” she screamed.
Griffin practically fell over the swinging gate in his haste to get out of the vicinity before she started breathing fire at him.
Once they were well off premises, Oliver clapped him on the shoulder.
“I see you’ve already met your first assignment.”
Chapter Two
The first thing Sofia Glycon did after dropping her drinks and screaming at Griffin was lock herself in the ladies’ room and call Clarice, her babysitter for the evening. She’d needed reassurance that Penelope was all right.
That the gargoyle who’d just disrupted her evening—and her life, again—hadn’t already stopped by and taken her baby girl from her.
Once Clarice assured her that no one had been to the house and there was no suspicious activity and that she would call if for some reason an incredibly attractive guy with a northern accent showed up, Sofia had forced herself to stay at the bar and finish out her shift.
She hadn’t had that much excitement in her life since the night she’d spent with Griffin the Disappearing Gargoyle. She supposed that when she wasn’t feeling resentful or angry—which wasn’t often—Sofia could admit that particular night had been pretty remarkable.
But spectacular orgasms came with a price. Always.
Damn, she had honestly thought she’d never see the guy again. Four years ago, he’d told her he was from Canada. A place called New Brunswick. And when she woke up the next morning and he was gone, leaving behind his very precious three-month-old cargo and no note, she’d presumed he’d hightailed it back north to his homeland. Considering what he left behind, she’d assumed he never planned to return.
Yet here he was. And in the bar where she worked as a waitress. Seriously? What were the odds? Unless, of course, he’d deliberately looked her up. Certainly possible, but why wait four years to do it?
Because by this point, she’d built up enough resentment, enough rage that she would never forgive the guy for what he did.
“You all right, cher?” Mitch, the bar’s owner, asked as he pushed through the swinging doors that led into the kitchen and storage area.
“Yeah. I’ll pay for all that glassware and those drinks I dropped.” She pulled a wad of tip money out of her apron.
Mitch waved away her offer. “Accidents happen. What caught you so off guard, anyway?”
She swallowed thickly. The story she’d given everyone had not involved her sleeping with a gargoyle and him leaving her high and dry the next morning. In fact, she’d never once mentioned to anyone that she had any involvement with gargoyles at all.
“I tripped. Somebody’s foot was sticking out.”
Mitch nodded. “That explains.”
“What?”
He lifted an envelope that had been lying next to the cash register. “This money and the note, stating it was to cover the drinks you dropped.”
She hurried over and snatched the envelope, ignored the bills, and pulled out the folded piece of paper. She didn’t even need to open it and read it; she knew it was from Griffin. It faintly bore his scent, but more than that, she could feel his magic on the note.
Please accept my humble apologies for startling your waitress. This should more than cover the expenses incurred. Consider giving her whatever is left over as a tip. Thank you. G
“I don’t want any of it. If there’s any left over,” she hastily added.
“Why not? There’s enough in there to double the tips you made tonight.”
It was tempting. She could definitely use the money. Toddlers were expensive. But— “No. Keep it. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She almost always worked weekends because first, there were far more tips to be made than on a random Tuesday afternoon, and second, it was easier to secure a babysitter than during the week when everyone else worked too.
After bidding her boss good night, Sofia shivered as
