Kit hung up the phone and said cautiously, “And you are …?”
”Margo.”
Uh-huh. He surveyed her silently, waiting for the rest. When she didn’t offer it, he prompted, -Margo.. .”
She still didn’t offer a last name. Instead, she said, “I have a business proposition for you, Mr. Carson.”
Oh, God, here it cones. The story of your life, major news feature, blockbuster motion picture …
In that getup, she looked like a Hollywood wannabe. Who knew, maybe she did have studio connections. For all he knew, she was Somebody’s kid, looking for a thrill.
”Lady,” he said, with as patient a sigh as he could manage, “I never discuss business on my feet and I never, ever discuss business with someone who has backed me into a corner.”
Her eyes widened. She had the decency to color an unbecoming shade of pink. Margo No-Name backed off sufficiently for Kit to edge out from behind the bar. Once he’d escaped, he leaned against the comfortably worn wooden bumper. “Now, if you want to talk business, kid, I suggest you buy me a drink.”
From the way her mouth dropped open, one would’ve thought he’d suggested they get naked and mud wrestle. He revised his estimate from Hollywood to Smallville. She closed her mouth and said primly, “Of course.”
She moved one hand surreptitiously toward a small belt pouch, giving away her insecurity and lack of funds in one greenhorn motion. Kit sighed Journalism student, he revised his mental estimation, and not overly bright at that.
He said, “Marcus, how about my usual-no, make it a bourbon and whatever the kid wants. She’s buying.”